Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous
by Makori
Summary: REVIVEd AGAIN! The gangs escape the Interpol forces in Mexico City, while in the shadows, Katurskay prepares a deadly trap.
1. Prologue

(A/N: Now, before you go all hell-in-a-handbasket on me, yes, I did borow some things from the Godfather game. No, I am not cheap. Well...actually, I don't know. The point is, I'm not claiming it as my actual work. I basically own nothing that was first created by EA or Sucker Punch. If I did, I'd be making the next few games.)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Naples, Italy**

**2:16 PM**

**Seven years before the Cooper Vault affair**

Naples was just settling into the afternoon. Everyone was moving slowly with the muggy heat of July and the fact that there was really no hurry for any of the people. Women talked in doorways, children played in shadowed alleys, and men started finishing up their work so they could clock out in about an hour's time. However, this happy atmosphere was simply a mask. Underneath the mask, everyone lived in fear. Every now and then, you'd see a woman lean into an alley to make sure her child was safe and did not stray too far. Sometimes, men would look over their shoulders to see if they were being followed, and some people just stayed indoors altogether and simply read books, watched television, or played video games with a shotgun across their laps, or a pistol on a table near them.

These were the people who were caught up in the never ending mob-war. Not that there were that many mobs. There were only three, the Cordasco Family, the Taloreso family, and the McCoy Family.

It was, indeed, odd for a Scottish man to be ruling as Don of an Italian mafia. The Taloresos didn't like the idea of a foreigner muscling in on their turf, but the Cordascos were quick and eager to set up an alliance with the Scotsman. Don Jonathon McCoy, known as Johnny to his wife and best friends, ran a place called 'Hell's Kitchen,' a neighborhood nicknamed after a fallen one in New York. Don McCoy didn't have much; a few gambling joints, some illegal distilleries, and definantly some of Naples' top firearms manufacturers, but they were willing to give anything to hold onto what they had.

However, in recent years, the Taloresos had been giving them hard times. Having made a nice little pile of cash, and having himself a family, Johnny was thinking of retirement, and handing his small empire over to Don Cordasco.

That's where our story takes us now, into the Heart of Naples, the neighborhood controlled by the Cordascos. The final neighborhood, Bullet's Bay, consisted of the dockyards stretching all along the Bay of Naples, and was ruled by the Taloresos with an iron fist.

However, on this particular day, three different cars, one from each family, pulled up in different places in the Heart of Naples, two very close together. As Don McCoy got out of his car, he looked around, at the stores and at the people walking around. There seemed to be many Cordasco thugs standing near a German owned hotel about two stores down, all looking around and checking something beneath their jackets. Probably guns. Never trust a gangster with your life, that's one thing McCoy had learned.

If anyone else looked around, all they would've noticed a large, unusually colored horse getting out of a car, nothing fancy, since he wasn't really about all that. Don McCoy was actually a Prezwalski's Wild horse. His grandfather had come from Mongolia, and therefore, he'd managed to get a little bit of that accent and behaviorinto his Scottish ones. His stiff, upright mane that went from his forehead down his neck looked like a Mohawk, and many people had said so; but, just once.

Pulling his fedora back down onto his head, McCoy looked into the car and said "Connie? Marty? C'mon out, no ones gonna shoot you."

Slowly, the other door opened, and a horse poked her head cautiously out and looked around. Seeing no Taloreso goons, she relaxed a little, then came fully out and stepped aside to let her eight year old son out. Marty came bounding out, shirt all askew, shoes untied and laces flopping all over the place. Connie rolled her eyes and sighed. The boy always did seem to have fun no matter where he went.

The Italian mare knelt down and said "Marty? Che cosa vi ho detto circa il vagabondaggio fuori?" 1

The colt, Marty, turned back around and whined "Ma Mom! Il dad dice la relativa cassaforte!" 2

Connie sighed and switched back to English.

"I don't care what Dad said, it's not safe for you to be running around in this kind of neighborhood!"

The colt frowned, pouting, and Connie sighed, saying "Alright, just make sure you stay in that alley next to the bakery over there. At least it's a little safe, since your father owns part of it."

She knew full well what happened behind the closed doors inside businesses. Gambling rackets, brothels, arms dealers and who knew what else made their livings in secrecy, away from the prying eyes of the police. But, sometimes the police couldn't be easily fooled, so they had to sometimes be bribed. Plus, the men working for them got to wave their guns around a bit in Bullet's Bay without getting arrested.

The colt smiled, pulled a little ball out of his pocket, and ran into the alley way, bouncing the little rubber toy against the walls. Sighing again, Connie walked over to Johnny, who was talking to a few of the Cordasco thugs in Italian. Just as she reached her husband's side, the thugs parted to allow a rather large alligator to pass through.

Don Leo Cordasco's face lit up with a smile as he spied his old friends and he bellowed "Johnny! Long time no see! Oh, and Miss Connie, too! Ah, and I can see your little boy playing over there. Very wise choice, Miss Connie, you couldn't have picked a more secure spot for your son to play!"

Connie smiled as Don Cordasco kissed the back of her hand, then shook Johnny's saying "Now, my friend, about that proposition you had for me? Shall we get down to brass tacks as well as signing the papers?"

McCoy nodded and said "Yes, but I still want to reside where I am currently. I should have enough money to send my boy to school, and make sure he gets a good start in his career, as well as all the unimportant things like clothes, food."

He smiled as Don Cordasco chuckled and said "Alright then, let's just get to the papers and we can-"

Don Cordasco never finished his sentence, for the bakery exploded in a rush of heat, light and sound. The explosion was so powerful that it knocked everyone in front of the hotel off their feet. There were the sounds of a struggle as the smoke began to roll, then, as it cleared, Connie looked up to see Johnny fighting off two rats. Two others lay nearby, both dead, since Johnny had broken both their necks. Throwing one rat into another, Johnny grabbed the third guy and started whacking him over the head with a burning piece of wood. As one of the rats disentangled himself from his partner, who was dead because of the knife Johnny almost always carried, Johnny casually shoved said burning piece of wood into said living rat's chest, then dragged the one he had been whacking over the head over to the blazing inferno and threw the rodent in.

Walking back over, he said "Is everyone alright? No one else is injured?"

All the other men were about to nod when Connie screamed "OH MY GOD! MARTY!"

In a flash, Johnny had set off in the direction that Connie was pointing. The alley his son had been playing in had not received much damage, but his son was no where to be seen. Walking down the alley, Johnny examine everything. That's when he heard a whimper from a stack of tires. Rushing over, he found the colt quivering inside, and was about to help him out, when he heard gunshots, then footsteps. One of them was heavy, two others were light.

He recognized them immediately and whispered to his son "No matter what happens, I want you to stay here, OK?"

The colt looked up at him with concern and curiosity in his eyes, but Johnny quickly said "Remember, no matter what happens. I know I can trust you. I love you son."

Quickly, Johnny pulled a piece of sheet metal over the top of the tires, then set another one in front of the stack. Satisfied his son was protected, he turned back to the alley's entrance to find a rhino, flanked by two rats, step into the entrance, trapping the horse there. The rhino was wearing a suit and smoking a cigar, while the rats were wearing trench coats and holding smoking machine guns.

The rhino, Don Taloreso, simply smiled, shrugged and said "Sorry Johnny. It's just business. Oh, by the way, Don Cordasco tried to protect Connie with some of his 'men.'"

Still smirking, he motioned towards the rats on either side and said "Some protection."

He then stepped back, winked, and muttered "Give it to him."

The second he finished, the two rats opened fire. Bullets ricocheted off the walls, off the sheet metal protecting the stack of tires, but not off of Johnny McCoy. He was strong, of course, but no man is completely bulletproof. As the lead pummeled his body, he tried to move to the side, desperate not to let his son see him die like this. He never got the chance. The rats, instantly bored, and started aiming for his head. Johnny was dead before he even hit the ground. Don Taloreso, always cautious, pulled a pistol out and shot the body a few more times. Satisfied that McCoy was dead, he jerked his head towards the entrance to the alleyway, and the rats took the hint, fleeing the scene of the crime. The rhino, smirking, stamped out his cigar, pocketed his pistol under his jacket, and left after them. There was silence for a moment, then, cautiously, the sheet metal on top of the stack of tires was lifted, and a frightened Marty McCoy emerged.

Shaking noticeably, he climbed out, then started towards his father, whispering "Dad…..?"

Suddenly, strong hands clamped themselves on the colt's shoulders, turning him away from the grisly sight. However, things were not much better outside the alley, for his mother lay in the street, in a pool of blood. He whirled around, and found himself looking up at the remorseful face of Don Leo Cordasco, looking down at him.

"I'm sorry, Marty. I'm as much to blame as that bastard. I should've seen this coming. Figures that he'd do something like this when he knows that Johnny doesn't bring security to peace conferences."

Looking over his shoulder one last time, Cordasco began leading Marty towards his own car, saying "When the time is right kid, then you can take your revenge."

Marty's fists were shaking in anger as his tears poured down his face. He'd kill them all, and make sure that Don Taloreso died a slow and painful death. He swore it there at his parents' murder sites, and he'd swear it again on their graves. He kill them all. And he'd do it without mercy.

Translation:

Italian to English

1: Marty? What have I told you about wandering off?

2: But Mom! Dad says its safe!


	2. Night Raid

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**2 miles Southwest of West Berlin, Germany**

**1:43 AM**

**Two years after the Cooper Vault affair**

Marty McCoy leaned around a corner, peering towards his target, pulling his brown peasant's cap further down his face. The man standing guard looked like he was just sleeping on his feet. Perfect. Marty drew a small walkie-talkie out of his pocket, and whispered a few things into it, listened, responded, then put the talkie away. Fog was rolling through the dockyards he was at, and the guards were spaced too thin. Perfect. All of a sudden, the guard jerked, whirled around, jerked again, and fell over. After waiting for a few seconds, Marty slowly made his way forward, his father's machine gun raised and ready, and checked the guard's pulse. Nothing. He was dead.

Smiling, Marty looked around, then whispered into the talkie, "Nice shot Julio."

His response came in the form of a shape leaping down from a nearby rooftop, holding a sniper rifle.

Stepping through the fog, the wolverine smiled a toothy grin and said "Nenhum problema, estava estando assim ainda, um elefante cego teria o problema faltá-lo."

Marty frowned and then smacked the wolverine upside the head and snarled "You're speaking in Portuguese again! How many times do I have to tell that I can understand Italian, I can understand German, I can understand Russian, I can even understand Swahili for Christ's sake, but I can't understand Portuguese!"

Julio scowled, stooped low and picked up his beanie, muttering "All I was saying was 'No problem, he was standing so still, a blind elephant would have trouble missing him.' What's so wrong about that? Maybe you should just learn how to understand Portuguese. It's not like you HAVE to speak it."

Marty sighed, rolled his eyes, then focused back on the talkie. Julio was indeed Portuguese, and liked to speak his native tongue often. His voice was accented, and people sometimes mistook him for a Spaniard. Marty's accent was more a mix of Italian, Scottish, and Russian, since he'd gone to Stalingrad for boarding school because Don Cordasco couldn't take care of him. This blend caused his accent to sound more like a New Yorker, and Marty hated that. He hated Americans, who always lived in luxury. He'd had nothing, come from nothing, and been treated like nothing for just about all of his life. That was the same with Julio, and the third member of the gang.

Speaking of which…a shadow detached itself from the others hugging the buildings around them.

It stepped towards Marty and Julio and said, and a Russian accent "I'm here."

Marty scoffed and turned to the shadow, saying "About time. What took you so long?"

The shadow emerged into what little light there was. Mikhail was a black panther, and as such he was their undercover, assassin, and stealth man. Strapped to both legs were two silenced Glock pistols. Each member of the gang had their own special guns. Marty had stolen his father's machine gun back from the police, who had raided his home after the demise of his parents. It was a 1928 Thompson, or Tommy gun as it was commonly named. His side arm was a Desert Eagle magnum semi-automatic, which he'd taken off the dead body of Don Taloreso's dead informant in the Cordasco family, after Marty himself had discovered the weasel and filled him full of lead from the Tommy gun. Julio had a Russian sniper rifle, an old World War II Mosin Nagant with a scope, a silencer, and an extension to the barrel, which had a long piece of cloth wrapped around where the rough weld of the barrels had been made. The rifle, thanks to a little ingenuity and teamwork from Marty and Julio, now fired special rounds that were custom made by Julio himself. The bullets would hit the target, then rapidly deteriorate, releasing the poison inside. His side arm was a Buntline revolver, to which he could attach a smaller scope onto the long barrel, and a wire frame onto the handle. However, Mikhail was different. He chose to simply wield his silenced Glocks, but wouldn't tell where he got them. It made no difference to Marty, but Julio was always bugging Mikhail about it. Actually, Julio bugged Mikhail about EVERYTHING.

Mikhail scoffed and said "I had to take care of some troublesome dogs, comrade. They were coming down thebank and I did not see them until it was too late. The good news is that no one will find them unless they drain the river."

Marty relaxed slightly, then stiffened up and said "Good. Let's keep going. If we're going to destroy this hub, we've got to do it before daybreak."

Let me pause for a second and explain. In mafia terms, a 'hub' is a supplier who gets illegal goods to all sorts of rackets for all sorts of people. Let's say you knew a weapons manufacturer and wanted to make some money. Well, then you simply get in contact with different gangs and mobs, then ship the desired goods two days early for big cash. Technically, a hub is neutral, since it ships to both sides of a mob war, or city, or even for completely different people, such as selling to the police AND to street gangs. This is the kind of hub that Marty had targeted tonight. This man, a Canadian moose by the name of Jack Wilco, AKA 'Wild Wilco', had worked for Jean Bison before the bison's downfall. He'd managed to sneak away some weapons and spice, then managed to escape with it to start his business before Bison tangled with the Cooper Gang.

Marty ground his teeth at the thought of the raccoon, hippo, and turtle who had played globetrotter and taken down the Fiendish Five, the Klaww Gang, Don Octavio(who's business and property had immediately been scooped up by Don Taloreso), General Tsao, Captain LeFwee, and the mysterious Dr. M. Yes, the world knew about Dr. M. No, he wasn't alive; not anymore. He'd been an inch from death when Interpol hauled him out of the fallen mountain. Then, he'd been sentenced to death for attempted murder of two Interpol officers and illegal genetic experiments. There was enough evidence, as well as Fox's and Cooper's testimonies, to put that ape six feet under.

Marty peered through the dark fog, and, seeing and hearing nothing, whispered "Alright, you both know the plan, right?"

The two others nodded, and Marty said "Then what the Hell are you standing around for? Move!"

**Meanwhile, 1/4 mile North**

Sly Cooper crept forward with his partner Carmelita Fox, both of them clutching their Interpol standard issue shock pistols. They were about two hundred feet from the compound gates, and they could plainly see the dogs patrolling the fence. In order to not be spotted, they'd taken several back roads out of Berlin, then parked the police car they'd borrowed in a small thicket, about five minutes walk from there. Sly and Carmelita both knew what was in there, and both were eager to get in. One because they could then kick some criminal ass, and the other because there was who knows how much money inside. I'll leave you to guess who had which desire.

Carmelita crouched behind a large boulder overlooking the compound, while Sly lay on his stomach, peering over a log. This was it. The night they were finally waiting for. Wilco was a supplier to just about all the Paris streets gangs. If they took him down, then they could easily take back the city without hassle. Interpol had declared war on the criminals of the world after Sly had supposedly gotten 'amnesia.' In truth, he was just fine. He could remember everything; the showdown with Muggshot in Utah, the kiss with Carmelita at the Kra-Karov volcano in Russia, breaking out of the Contessa's prison in Prague, robbing Jean Bison's trains in Canada, watching Murray dance in radioactive oil in Australia, revealing the Black Baron's true identity in Holland, the pirate battle with LeFwee in the Caribbean, and the fight with Dr. M in the Cooper vault on Kaine Island, two years ago. He remembered it all. But he had to act like he didn't. It wasn't really that hard actually. All he had to do was stay clear of conversations that pertained to his previous adventures.

Sly was brought out of reminisce by a playful smack on the head, which knocked his peasant's cap askew. Straightening the cap, he looked up at the smiling face of Carmelita. Ah, yes, one more detail; he and the beautiful vixen had currently been going out for the last six months.

"C'mon ringtail, pay attention." Carmelita teased, shoving Sly a little harder than she meant to.

That was a small problem with her. She never knew her own strength, which sometimes resulted in suspects being crippled.

Sly grinned evilly and said "I was just thinking about last night." Carmelita's smile faltered slightly and she blushed heavily. If you do the math right, which shouldn't be too hard, you'll be able to figure out what happened.

Swatting him again, the vixen muttered "Don't talk about that again, okay? At least, not while we're out of the house."

Again, Sly grinned evilly and said "Yours or mine?"

Again, Carmelita swatted him, a little harder, though.

"Cooper! Honestly, I thought you agreed that we'd leave all mentions of our relationship in private."

Sly lookedleft, then right, then behind him, then said "There's no one else around except for those guards down there."

Carmelita sighed, a smile on her lips as she said "You're impossible. C'mon, it's time we got Wilco and took him into custody."

With that, both of them took off towards the compound.

**Meanwhile, 500 feet South**

Marty, Mikhail, and Julio all crept up to the door to the main warehouse. Marty nodded and Mikhail held up his paw and extended a single, sharp claw. The door was actually two big doors, made so trucks could go in and out, with one single padlock and a keypad next to the door frame. While Mikhail picked the lock, Julio started disassembling the keypad, exposing the circuits. Marty kept them covered, keeping his Tommy gun level, pointing it in random directions, where there was fog. It was strange how there only seemed to be fog down here at the river, but not up in the hills only a few hundred feet away. Maybe it had something to do with the water.

Shrugging, Marty turned back around to find Mikhail and Julio finishing up, Mikhail, pulling his claw out of the lock, retracting it, and then pulling the lock off, and Julio putting the keypad back together and punching in the reprogrammed code. However, even though the doors began to open, they stopped suddenly, just short of where Mikhail could slip in. Cursing under his breath, Marty slammed his shoulder into the crack between the doors. As the muscle of the team, this was where he came in. The doors, having been convinced that this wasn't a great position, slowly resumed their opening, until they were fully open.

Slipping in, all three aimed their guns in separate directions while Marty quietly said "Okay, Julio. Can you see the guards up on the balconies?"

Julio flipped a switch on his rifle scope and the view changed to thermal.

"Sim."

Tight lipped, Marty muttered, "Okay, start nailing them."

Ten seconds later, Julio whispered "That's the last one."

Marty nodded, then said "Okay, guys, you know the plan; Mikhail will creep through the warehouse, taking out any guards he finds, Julio will head to the six pressure points and plant the C-5 charges, wiring them all to the same trigger. I'll go give Wilco a visit and find out what's…uh…what, if you catch my drift."

They caught his drift, alright, but didn't say anything. Marty was a master extortionist, and knew exactly what made people crack.

They split up, and Marty climbed a ladder that went up to a balcony, then walked down a second story hallway until he came to a door labeled 'Jack Wilco.' Crudely written underneath were the words 'Keep Out!' Marty rolled his eyes, then looked around and, finding the air vent, kicked it open, then shoved his Tommy gun in just enough so it would be hidden from anyone who didn't know it was there, but not enough so he couldn't find it.

Pulling his trench coat around himself, he then knocked on the door twice, then kicked it down. Jack Wilco was crouching behind his desk, clutching a shotgun. As soon as Marty knocked down the door, the moose stood up and began to draw a bead on the horse. Striding quickly over, Marty landed a punch in Wilco's gullet, then twisted the shotgun from his grasp and threw it out the window.

Grabbing Wilco by the shirt, Marty hauled him upright and snarled "You're out of luck, my friend. I want to know who you supply, who else they're counting on, and where the other suppliers are."

The moose shoved him away, massaging his stomach, and said "You talk tough kid, but you ain't fooling me. You won't get shit outta-oof!"

That was Marty clocking him with a roundhouse punch. Grabbing the moose's shirt again, he pulled him close and said "I want your full cooperation, and I'm gonna get it,capeesh? I'll cripple you if I have to; now tell me where the goddamned suppliers are for Don Taloreso!"

Again, the moose pushed him away and said "Go take it up the ass, you son of a fat bit-"

CLICK.

That was Marty's pistol, which was currently pressed to the area between Wilco's eyes. He'd drawn fast, too fast for the naked eye to see, but if you can believe it, Mikhail was faster; a lot faster.

"Now," said Marty, through gritted teeth. "For the last time, tell me who else is supplying Don Taloreso, and where they are currently operating."

Wilco, in a panic now, pointed at the desk, his eyes never leaving Marty's gun, leaving him cross-eyed. Marty walked over to the desk, holstered his gun, and started going through the drawers. It was only a small scraping sound that warned him, but it was enough. He quickly ducked beneath the wooden desk as Wilco fired the snub-nosed revolver he'd had in his back pocket, the bullet ricocheting off the desktop and into the computer on it. Marty rolled out from behind it, pistol drawn, and fired three shots, two in the chest, one in the head. Wilco was dead before his gun hit the ground. Holstering his pistol again, Marty resumed his ransacking, until he came up with a folder that held information on all the suppliers in Europe. He quickly discarded the documents of the people who didn't supply to Taloreso, and was about to leave when something on another piece of paper caught his eye. Two or three other suppliers were shipping to two rat brothers, one in London, one in Paris. They were the rats who had mercilessly slaughtered his parents and Don Cordasco's men. Quickly, he grabbed the supplier's information, stuffed them into the folder, which now only contained about six or seven papers, and left, grabbing his Tommy gun from the vent on his way back to the main room of the warehouse.

Mikhail and Julio were done, and, upon seeing their leader alive, headed for the door, Julio holding a wireless detonator. Upon making it out of the warehouse and back to the dock, Marty turned to the wolverine, nodded, and started up their boat as Julio flipped up the plastic cover, then pressed one button. A red light came on, which meant that the explosives were armed, and if the trigger came within fifty feet of them, they would explode. This was designed to prevent any persons who had captured them and were searching for the explosives to be very successful. Once the red light stopped blinking, Julio pressed the second button. In a tremendous explosion, the charges went off, blowing out the load-bearing pillars of the warehouse, bringing the whole roof and everything else down on the explosives planted in the center, which were on proximity trigger. In an explosion that would have rivaled an atomic bomb, just about the whole compound went up in an ear-busting explosion. Satisfied, Marty started piloting the boat downriver, back towards Prague, where they would ditch the boat and get a train ride to Naples. Only one thing had not gone according to plan; or so they thought.


	3. The Ball Starts Rolling

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**2 miles Southwest of West Berlin, Germany**

**5 minutes before the end of the previous chapter**

Sly and Carmelita made it to the fence just as the guard turned back around. The dog did a double-take, blinked twice, and shouted, raising his shotgun. But, before he could begin to draw a bead on the two officers, Sly had darted forward and knocked the guard over the head with the handle of his shock pistol. The guard dropped like a sack of potatoes, and Sly, with some help from Carmelita, hauled the dog into the bushes. Then, they both turned back to the fence, guns at the ready, in case someone had heard the guard's shout and came running. However, there was no alarm, no thunder of approaching footsteps.

Having processed this turn of events, and with Sly covering her, Carmelita quickly leapt over the fence, landing nimbly on top of a truck on the other side.

Leaping down, she did a 180 of the area, and whispered "OK, Cooper, its safe."

Sly leapt over the fence and onto the truck, but before he could get onto the ground, three shots rang out from a warehouse. They were pretty loud, too.

_'__Must've been a magnum'_ thought Sly, crouching down on top of the truck as Carmelita did the same on the ground.

After about two minutes, nothing else had happened, and Carmelita stood up, ready to investigate the gunshots, when six explosions ripped through the night, and the warehouse crumbled in on itself, followed by an even bigger explosion that swept Sly off the truck and into the space between it and the fence. It was over two seconds later, but Sly lay there for a little while longer, trying to dispel the pain in his head. After about ten minutes, his headache subsided to a dull throb, but the pain in his left ear had not decreased in any way. Getting up slowly, Sly held his head with his hand, while groping around with the other for his gun. When he found it, he wasn't surprised to see that it had been destroyed by a chunk of cement crammed into the barrel. It was, at that moment, that Sly heard a groan, and instantly remembered Carmelita.

"Oh—SHIT!" he muttered, eyes widening.

Tossing the ruined firearm aside, he quickly ran over to where the groan had come from, a pile of rubble. Sly quickly shoved away some of the rubble to find himself looking at a broken, bleeding Inspector Fox, trapped underneath more rubble. Working even quicker than before, he started pushing away the rubble around her, desperate to free the vixen. Finally, when he could lift her out, he saw the extent of her injuries. Her left arm and both legs were broken, and her jaw was dislocated, with a small trickle of blood coming from a cut on her forehead.

Shaking, Sly whispered "God, Carmelita, please don't leave me."

He quickly felt for a pulse and, finding one, let out his breath, which he didn't realize he'd been holding. He heaved her still form onto his shoulder and started back for the thicket the police cruiser was in. It was time to pay Bentley a visit. Strange, but now he couldn't feel any pain at all.

**Prague, Czechoslovakia**

**3:14 am**

**2 days after the Germany raid**

As the boat continued downriver, Prague just in sight, Marty McCoy closed up the file he'd been reviewing. The two rats, German brothers who had gone to Italy in hopes of kick starting their criminal career in a mafia, were currently hiding out in Paris and London, and had their own criminal empires.

One of them, 'Slick' Hanz Shuker, was at war with Interpol at their HQ in Paris, and was slowly taking ground. Therefore, in order to keep the war going, he'd need guns and ammunition, and if they took out a few hubs, then some rackets, he'd be crippled and start losing. Knowing men like these, Marty knew that Hanz would attempt to flee the country if this happened.

The other brother, 'Gentleman' Lars Shuker, was quite different from his brother. He did crime in what he considered a more effective, underhand, yet elegant way; the art of persuasion. Sources claim that Lars had such a silver tongue, he could convince someone to commit suicide. So, by simply putting his extortion prices lower than other crime lords, he managed to take over just about all of London in a short time. The police couldn't get enough proof, however, to convict him, since he almost never left any evidence. Marty didn't care about evidence. All he knew was that somewhere back at the hideout, there were two bullets reserved for the Shuker brothers' skulls.

As the boat pulled up to the dock, Mikhail began tying the rope at the nose of the boat to a pillar, while Julio started sabotaging the craft. Marty took all their guns, save for a few snub nosed revolvers, and put them into a suitcase. Julio's sniper rifle, however, was too long, but Marty had come prepared, and packed the weapon away in a guitar case, snapping it all shut quickly. Thanks to Julio, there was a special lead lining on the inside of the cases, which would put off any X-ray detection. In order to not arouse suspicion, he'd created a pattern of sorts in the lead to make it seem like there was only clothes and a guitar in the cases. The guns were all set in specially created foam that weighed the approximate measure of a suitcase full of clothes and a guitar in its case; minus the weight of the guns and ammo of course. They always had to leave some ammo that they'd bought behind, but they knew where to get more in Naples; Don Cordasco's weapons racket, disguised as a butcher shop.

Julio looked up as Marty finished packing the guns away and said "Polícia at ten o' clock."

Marty and Mikhail looked up as a vulture came limping over, a crossbow in his right hand. Ever since the Contessa had ruled over Prague with an iron fist, the so called 'police' carried the silent but deadly weapons wherever they went. This was no different. Marty stepped up onto the dock and started speaking in German, hoping to sound like a tourist.

"Hallo Offizier! Können Sie uns helfen zu gefallen? Meine Freunde und ich suchen nach der Zugstation, so können wir unsere Ferien in Italien fortsetzen." 1

The vulture fell for it, hook line and sinker, and replied, in German, "Selbstverständlich Sir. Gerader Abstieg die Straße, Sie können nicht es vermissen." 2

The officer then pointed at the boat and continued "Ich kam einfach, das Boot auf ungültige Materialien überzuprüfen. Standardverfahren, Sie verstehen?" 3

Marty nodded and gestured the vulture over to the boat, which, thankfully, Julio hadn't gotten very far on with sabotaging. Julio nodded, smiling, and Mikhail simply nodded. Both grabbed their supposed luggage and climbed out as the vulture inspected the craft.

A few minutes later, he climbed back out and said "Gut, Ich fand nicht nichts, Sie sind frei." 4

Marty nodded, then jerked his head in the direction of the station, which he already knew. Mikhail and Julio followed him, stealing glances back as the vulture walked away in the opposite direction.

There was silence until, upon reaching the station, Mikhail said, in English, "Why did we not simply kill him, comrade? It would have saved us a lot of trouble."

Marty sighed and replied, slightly annoyed, "Julio?"

The wolverine cleared his throat and said "A body is evidence, Mikhail. If someone had found him near our craft, hidden or not, they would've made the connection. Even if we dumped him in the river, forensics can do just about anything. The current wasn't moving very fast and he would not have gone very far, so they would've been able to tell how long the chemicals in his body had been bloated. They would've found the boat anyway and then become suspicious."

"Besides," Marty continued. "I'm not one to stoop so low as to kill someone who hasn't committed a crime."

With that, the conversation was over. Now, they just had to wait for the train. Or so they thought.

**Paris, France**

**2:21 am**

**3 days later**

"Aaaannnd…NOW!"

With a bang, sparks erupted from the machine as a turtle in a wheelchair and a mouse were both flung backwards, out of the contraption, and into a desk. After a few more smaller bangs, the machine suddenly went quiet, then started humming softly.

Bentley Montgomery, struggling to pull himself off of his girlfriend, breathlessly said "Not-huff-exactly-wheeze-what I-cough-expected."

Said girlfriend, one Penelope Black, stood up and helped Bentley back into his wheelchair, saying "Well, at least it didn't implode like last time."

Bentley, now secure in his wheelchair, nodded and started rolling back over. Penelope followed him and they both examined the damage. There wasn't really that much, to tell the truth. Just a few scorch marks on one or two circuit boards, a burned out connection here or there, and some missing wires from a few places, but other than that it was fine.

Rolling over to a computer, Bentley began typing at high speeds, looking up every now and then, checking the screen. Penelope stood off to the side, her view switching between her boyfriend and the contraption that had currently taken two years of blood, sweat, and tears to cobble together. It was the time machine she had thought up after Murray Green, the other member of the original Cooper Gang and great friend to both, had left.

Finally, Bentley looked over to her and said "Okay, currently, the system is stable, but we're missing one or two data packets. I suspect we may have lost them in the explosion. That must've been what fried everything last time; too much data. Hmm…"

Penelope spoke up just then. "What if we made another system? A smaller, less complex one that linked up to the original database? It could hold all the basic data and software while the more advanced programs could be kept on the original machine?"

Bentley simply sat there for a few seconds, then a grin appeared on his face and he wheeled over to her, taking her hand and saying "No wonder I love you."

Penelope blushed and said "Aw, it was simple problem solving. Honestly, even Sly could've-"

At that moment, the door was thrown open, exposing the thunderstorm that was currently rumbling outside. A silhouette stood in the doorframe, illuminated by the lamp inside and the lightning outside. After a second or two, the figure limped inside. It was now apparent that it was TWO figures, one holding the other over its shoulder. As the two came further toward the light, both Bentley's and Penelope's eyes popped wide open in shock and surprise. Bentley was the first to speak.

"Sly? Is that really you?"

Sly didn't look so good. His clothes were soaking wet, his boots were caked with mud, and there was a trickle of blood coming out of his left ear. However, the person he was carrying looked even worse.

As Sly knelt and lay an unconscious Carmelita Fox on the floor, he looked up at them and said "Guys, I need your help."

**Meanwhile…**

**Naples, Italy**

**3:36 am**

As the McCoy Gang made its way back towards their hideout, Don McCoy's old house, there was no conversation whatsoever. The need for weapons at the moment was unnecessary, for Don Cordasco had managed to drive Don Taloreso out of Naples. Of course, the rhino had simply set up his HQ in his newly acquired neighborhood in Venice, which had once belonged to Don Octavio.

For ten minutes, not a sound was heard or made as Naples began to wake up. However, as the McCoy Gang made its way past a shop with a sign that said 'Genco Fruit,' they failed to notice a large figure walking on its knuckles down the street, on the other side. Of course, they noticed when the figure kicked open a door, pulled two machine guns out, and opened fired. There was a yell, a grunt from the figure, the shattering of glass and the splintering of wood and then…silence. The large figure pulled something out of its arm, threw it down, and walked on. Or rather, rolled on, since the figure was walking on its knuckles.

The McCoy gang peeked out from where they had taken cover, behind a bench. They were lucky they'd been in the shadows, for they knew that if they'd been spotted, they'd have been killed too. No one likes to leave witnesses.

Rummaging in the suitcase, Marty pulled out his Desert Eagle, checked the load and safety, and whispered "Keep me covered."

The other two nodded, pulling their guns out. Marty waited a few seconds, then rushed forward at a crouch across the street. Reaching the other curb, he felt around, then found the object the figure had pulled out of its arm. It was a spear. Not a long spear, like a savage would use, it was more like the spear that would get launched out of a spear gun. There was still blood dripping off the head.

Marty stood up slowly, looking at the bullet holes in the window. Branching out from the holes were what looked like fibers. This was supposed to be bulletproof glass. There were only two types of machine guns in the world that could penetrate it, and he owned one of them. The figure's guns didn't look or sound anything like Tommy guns.

Slowly, he walked through the door to find a wreck where he was sure a normally clean house would be. Bullet holes in tables, chairs, the walls, and more importantly, the occupant. Marty could see a purple, spiked tail peeking out from behind an easy chair that had tipped over.

Pulling out his pistol, he walked towards the chair and stepped around it. He found a purple lizard, dressed up in clothes that clashed distastefully. The lizard had a few bullets in his chest, but he was still breathing. Still alive. Marty walked back to the door and waved Julio and Mikhail over, then went back to the lizard when he heard him muttering something. He knelt down next to the lizard, listening to what he whispered, then nodded and walked into another room and found an intact telephone. Quickly, he dialed a long distance number and waited, listening to the ringing.

**Paris, France**

**3:39 am**

As Bentley began finishing up his medical work on Carmelita and Sly, the phone started ringing.

Penelope, stripping off bloodstained gloves, picked up the receiver and said "Hello?...Who is this?...Have you done something to him!...What!...Uh, Ok, don't move him, we'll try to get over there as soon as possible. DON'T CALL ANYONE ELSE, you hear me?"

Quickly, she hung up and strode back over to Bentley, who had heard the whole conversation and was looking at her curiously.

Penelope took a deep breath, then said "That was a man in Naples, name of Marty McCoy. He and his friends were passing by Dimitri's house when they heard gunfire. They checked on him, and he told them to call us and tell us something."

She took another breath, trying to calm down, and finished "Muggshot almost killed him."

Translations:

German to English;

1. Hello officer! Can you please help us? My friends and I are looking for the train station, so we can continue our holidays in Italy.

2. Of course Sir. Straight down the road, you can't miss it.

3. I came simply to examine the boat for illegal materials. Standard procedure, you understand?

4. Well, I didn't find anything, you're clear.


	4. Trust Issues

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**The Thievius Raccoonus**

**Entry Number 2,956**

**Penned by Sly Cooper**

As soon as I heard those words leave Penelope's lips, I didn't believe them. Muggshot was in prison, how could he have shot Dimitri? Then, the obvious answer came to me; it was no mean feat for him to escape. Even in maximum security, Muggshot is tough enough and just crazy enough to force his way out.

Bentley's getting in contact with the guy in Italy-Marty McCoy, a well known leader of a ruthless and merciless thief gang-so that they can bring Dimitri up here. While that's happening, however, I'm to watch over Carmelita. She still doesn't know about everything that's going on, including my lying to be with her. However, as I think over everything, I realize it doesn't really matter. I love Carmelita, she loves me, and that's all that really does matter.

I've also thought hard about something else, something that tears me to the bone and will shatter the innocence of everyone in the gang; no matter how many times we put Muggshot into prison, he'll always manage to come back and make our lives hell. He's managed to three times already, what's stopping him from doing it a forth time? Plus, I think it's time I paid that bastard back in full for what he's done to us. My parents in particular. Death can only be avenged by death.

I'm going to ask the McCoy Gang, who I know have had connections with the mob, where we can get our hands on some more…how should I say it…modern weapons. A cane, fists, and a wheelchair have been a good arsenal so far, but now, its time to go to war. And war always involves guns. Somewhere out there, there's a bullet that's reserved for Muggshot's head, and I'll be the one pulling the trigger.

_Sly Cooper_

_And the gang_

_In_

**ARMED AND DANGEROUS**

**Paris, France**

**2:14 am**

**6 days after the end of the previous chapter**

This was it. Bentley tensed up, gripping the armrest of the wheelchair tightly, which turned out to be a mistake, since a bomb suddenly shot out on a robotic arm. Bentley froze, keeping the button pressed, and the bombed remained inactive. Looking around, he quickly spotted the fountain in front of the Peacock Nightclub, which Dimitri had managed to buy back. Dimitri had actually been on holiday in the Naples safe house when Muggshot had attacked him, which explained why he'd been there in the first place.

Slowly, Bentley wheeled down the ramp, heading for the fountain. Reaching it, he glanced left, then right, then dropped the bomb in, wheeled quickly back to the ramp in front of the safe house, and tried to look calm as it exploded. The fountain wasn't damaged, but he couldn't be sure that it wouldn't attract attention. Now, back to the earlier events.

Bentley had tensed up because this was the day that Murray would be back from Prague, with the McCoy Gang and Dimitri. Bentley had called him up to alert him to the recent turn of events, which soon got Murray on the run back to Paris from his break from the circuit. He'd been in Kinderdijk, Holland, the town that Penelope had owned as the Black Baron. Of course, his boss was furious that he actually cashed in the rest of the vacation time he'd earned, which was about two months total. Murray had definitely earned it, though.

Bentley once again tensed up at the sound of an engine, then relaxed when he realized it was just a passing cab. Another reason he was so uptight today was behind the door at his back, for he knew that if the police figured out what was going on and that Inspector Fox and 'Constable' Cooper were inside, all their asses would be going to hell and back in a hand basket.

The door opened, and Bentley practically launched himself out of his wheelchair in shock before he realized that it was just Penelope, coming to check on him.

Kissing his cheek, she said "Anything yet?"

Bentley smiled dryly and, looking back at her over his shoulder, said "If there was, would I still be out here?"

Penelope smiled, then leaned slightly and set her chin on his shoulder, watching the street. After a few moments of silence, she said "We're going to kill Muggshot, aren't we?"

Bentley sighed and simply said "Yes."

After a few more minutes, Penelope asked "Is that why you're bringing the McCoy Gang up here?"

Bentley sighed again and replied "They've got the skills, the weapons, and the connections we need to win. What more convincing do we need?"

"They're just a bunch of merciless cowboys who shoot at everything they see! You remember the explosion in Germany that made Carmelita that way? That was their work. And now you're bringing them here!" Penelope stood back up, to her full height, which wasn't much taller than Bentley's when he was sitting, and exclaimed "You're not the Bentley I knew."

Bentley, in a rage, spun around and snarled "The Bentley you knew died before you met him! Either that, or you didn't know me at all! During the Clockwerk affair, during the India job, Sly and Murray were captured, and I was alone. Something snapped inside me, and when I reached Prague, I became more vicious, more bloodthirsty than ever before. I didn't care if I killed the guards; it only made me even angrier. I finally calmed down a lot after I got in this wheelchair. I still fought harder than before during the Cooper vault affair, but it didn't happen to me again; until Dr. M came against us. You remember?"

Penelope, close to tears, nodded shakily. Dr. M had faced Bentley and Murray in the Cooper vault two years ago, and while Murray was preoccupied with wrestling the baboon in a power game, Bentley had run around grabbing rigged crystals to help. However, he'd been attacked by large, genetic experiments that Dr. M used for guards, and Bentley tried to fight them off with the Grapple-cam. However, one went for Murray while he was busy, and something seemed to snap inside Bentley. He'd then started throwing bombs around and whacking things left and right, not caring what he hit, until all the thugs were scattered around the room in bloody pieces. Then, when Dr. M fled into the vault, Bentley had, in a rage, gone after him, ready to kill. He probably would have had he caught up to the maniac ape.

Bentley seemed to calm down a bit as he saw the hurt look on Penelope's face. Gripping both her shoulders, he said, much quieter than before "Look, you just need to trust my judgment. You've done that before. We need the McCoy Gang to kill Muggshot. Otherwise, who knows what'll happen. Who'll be next Penelope? You, me, Sly, Murray, Guru, Panda King, he might even go after Dimitri again and finish the job. We'll never be safe from him until we end it all. One of us will have to die; him or us. That's exactly why I'm going to ask you to please keep your involvement in this to a minimum."

At the look of indignation and shock on Penelope's face, Bentley forged on, saying "You can still fly your helicopter or drive your car, but when it comes down to field work, please don't go out very much. Things just won't be safe."

"But I've gone up against gun-slinging thugs before, remember?"

Bentley did remember. After the gang broke up, Bentley and Penelope had decided to try a bank robbery for their first heist together. It would've seemed relatively easy, had this bank NOT been controlled by the Russian mafia lord Katurskay. It turned out that the man had put machine-gun toting guards in the bank, and that's what the two thieves hadn't counted on. Bentley had been shot in the belly, and Penelope, acting fast, had thrown a few bombs in the room. There were six in all, and four were killed, one wounded, and another uninjured. The remaining man had then grabbed Bentley, putting the gun to his head, ready to end the turtle's life, when Penelope had grabbed another gun, put it to the back of the man's head, and pulled the trigger. She had cried about it for days on end, but eventually, Bentley was able to get her to come out and get back on track.

Bentley sighed and said "Yes, but not all of them will be coming after me with their backs to you. Gangsters don't care at all for any kind of life; all they do care about is money and killing. When you were first captured by LeFwee, you said you trusted me. Now, I need you to trust me again."

Penelope, still shaking slightly, nodded after a few moments hesitation. Bentley could see that it was stillhard for her to accept his decision, so for reassurance, he gave her shoulder a squeeze and said "I don't like it very much either, but if we're going to end our problems with Muggshot, this is the best thing we could've hoped for."

Penelope gave him a light smile and said, in barely more than a whisper "I trust you Bentley."

And that's when, with a rumble, screech and crash of metal on wood, the team van pulled up in front of the safe house, crashing through a table in front of another shop. There was silence for a few seconds, then, the side door was flung open, and a wolverine leapt out and began kissing the ground. Before Bentley and Penelope could exchange confused looks, a black panther and an oddly colored horse followed him, both clutching their stomachs.

The horse leaned back into the van and said, in what sounded like a New York accent "Alright, Murray, you made your point. This van can indeed go above eighty miles per hour in under twenty seconds."

The panther, obviously annoyed, pulled him back, then snarled into the van "Just don't ever, _ever_, show us again."

That's when Murray came from the drivers' door, grinning like an idiot, and walked around to the side door, went in, and then reemerged with a bloody, battered, and bruised Dimitri. The horse pulled out some luggage-nothing much, just a few suitcases and a guitar case-then pulled out his real prize. It was simply a large crate, but the horse popped the top, pulled out some expensive pottery, handed them to the panther, who set them down near the safe house stairs and said, in a Russian accent "This is for a show of good faith" then walked back, kicking the wolverine in the side and muttering something incoherently. Then, the horse rummaged in the straw packing and pulled out a twelve gauge shotgun, still glistening with grease from the factory. As he handed it to the panther, who in turn leaned the gun against the van, he kept pulling more out, and soon, there were two shotguns, one sniper rifle, and five automatics leaning against the side of the van, which wasn't much room and made the guns look like they were about to fall over. Then, the three lined up in front of Bentley and Penelope. Murray had taken Dimitri inside, so they were alone. Silence reigned for a full five minutes while everyone studied the other party.

Then, the wolverine stepped forward and, earning himself a smack upside the head that knocked his beanie off, said "Someone order an army?"


	5. Gun Show

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Paris, France**

**5:30 am**

**3 hours after the end of the previous chapter**

Dimitri sat up in his bed in fascination as Bentley finished bandaging his newly doctored wound. But that wasn't what caught his interest. What he was really watching was a horse, a wolverine, and a black panther sitting in a corner, cleaning some guns, even though they hadn't been used in hours. Enough ammunition to start a small revolution sat around them. Black shotgun shells, brass rifle cartridges, copper-slugged pistol rounds, even clips and magazines for automatics.

Having reached a sort of truce with the Cooper Gang, the McCoy Gang had brought in all their possessions. Sly watched with slight curiosity as each one contributed in silence. They had formed a pack line of sorts and, without asking for any help from the Cooper Gang, tossed the luggage down the line, until it was inside the safe house. Now, they just sat there, cleaning the well oiled guns, saying nothing.

Sly still sat at Carmelita's side. The vixen was still unconscious, but Bentley had bound her to her bed anyways, for when she woke up, as soon as she saw both the Cooper Gang and the McCoy Gang in front of her, the first thing she would do would be to try and arrest them. Sly absently brushed a strand of hair from her face as his thoughts turned of what had happened in the last two years.

"_Now, remember, Sly, Chief Stern is, well-" _

_"Stern?" Sly suggested, half joking, half serious. _

_Carmelita rolled her eyes, but nonetheless said "Yes, he is, and I don't want to lose my job, or for you to lose yours, so make sure you behave." _

_Sly gave a mock salute and said "Aye, aye captain." _

_Carmelita sighed, then opened Chief Stern's door. The German Shepard sat at his desk, doing some paperwork. As soon as Carmelita opened the door, he looked up, over the tops of his reading glasses, then flicked his eyes past the vixen to Sly, then frowned. Sighing, the dog took off his glasses and motioned for them to come in. Sly shut the door behind him and took a seat next to Carmelita. _

_There was silence for a few seconds, while the Chief looked Sly over, then said "Do you remember anything?" _

_This was the moment. Sly had to be the world's best actor. He put a puzzled look on his face and screwed up his face, pretending to be thinking. _

_"Not much," he said after a few minutes. "All I remember was waking up in that cave on that island. Carm- I mean, Inspector Fox, found me and told me who she was, then who I was, and we got out of there. I lost the pouch I wore and that weird stick I was holding. I haven't a clue where they came from or where they went." _

_Silence. _

_Finally, Chief Stern smiled slightly and said "Do you really know who you are?"_

_Sly put on a bewildered expression as panic rose inside of him. Would the Chief slap the cuffs on him and send him straight to prison anyways? _

_"Well, Inspector Fox told me I was Constable Sly Cooper, one of the best in the Interpol force." _

_Okay, so maybe he was overdoing it. Chief Stern, however, nodded and said "And let's not forget that you were in line for a promotion to Inspector. However, in light of your amnesia, I'm giving you a two year drop from that list to get everything in order. But first, could you step outside while I speak with Inspector Fox?" _

_Sly blinked as if confused, then nodded, got up, and went for the door. As expected, just about the entire Paris force was crowded outside the door, listening in. _

_The Chief, pounding his desk with a fist, yelled "BACK TO WORK!" _

_The officers all scrambled away, and Sly stepped out into the now empty hallway, closing the door behind him, then immediately gluing his ear to it and listening in. _

_He could hear the Chief say "His skills could be of some value. What I want to know is how did you manage to catch that sonovabitch in China, then let him get away, only to catch him again?" _

_Sly growled at the insult. _

_"Chief, look, all due respect, don't insult Cooper. He has no idea what's going on and what's happened. All he will know is what we tell him. So, if we can set that straight and maybe get him to remember some of his techniques, he could be one good cop." said Carmelita, arguing in his defense. _

_Silence. _

_Then, Stern chuckled and said "What happened to the hostile fox whose favorite catchphrase was 'Once a criminal, always a criminal,' and do I detect a hint of annoyance in your voice? Have you gone soft Inspector? Or maybe," The Chief's next few words were so soft, Sly had trouble hearing them. "You're starting to like him." _

_Sly could tell that Carmelita was blushing, since he could hear the squeaks of the chair she was sitting in as she shifted her weight uncomfortably. _

_Sly could also tell that the Chief was grinning broadly as his voice said "How's this; you're to watch over him, and he'll be your partner. He'll learn the ropes from the best. Now go. Get outta here." _

_Sly quickly moved away from the door a split second before a grinning Carmelita threw it open. As soon as she walked out, she regained some composure and grabbed Sly's arm, pulling him down the hall and saying "C'mon, ringtail, we got some work to do."_

Sly was jerked off memory lane as Bentley slapped him over the head with a fly swatter, saying "Hello, Earth to Sly, do you copy? Geez, I knew you could sleep through anything, but this is just ridiculous."

Wheeling away, muttering a few choice curses, Bentley stood next to Penelope. Murray and the Guru were standing there as well. Sighing, Sly walked over next to them, and all of them focused on the wolverine in front of them. He had a smug sort of grin on his face, as though he thought he had everything organized to the exact detail.

"Good day, everyone," he said. He sounded Hispanic, but there was something odd about it.

"Since my…uh…teammates are still arguing over which guns should go to whom, I will start the introductions. I am Julio an Raz Benedeck, the brains and sniper of the gang. If you'll come this way, please."

Julio turned towards the stairs that led to the basement, where the McCoy Gang would be taking up residence. During Sly's lapse into Memory Town, all the guns had been moved downstairs, and they could hear the arguing voices through the door. Julio opened it, exposing Bentley's lab. The McCoy Gang would be staying in a large storage room off to the side, as long as they didn't break anything in the lab.

The door to the room was open, and they could see horse and panther arguing over something in front of them. Suddenly, the horse threw a punch, which the panther barely dodged, and the horse's fist rammed into the wall, creating a small spider web in the bricks. The horse either wasn't affected, or simply chose to ignore any pain he may have felt, for he took another swing at the panther, who ducked, but only barely managed to dodge the would-be blow. It went on like this until, suddenly, both of them had drawn guns and had them pointing at each others heads. Julio decided to step in at this point and play peacekeeper.

"What the hell are you two arguing about? It's just a small matter of who gets which gun. Does it really matter enough to do this?"

Turning to the panther, Julio said "Mikhail, are you willing to make a birdhouse out of Marty's skull just because you think Sly should have an automatic handgun?"

The panther suddenly looked unsure.

Julio turned to the horse and said "And Marty, is it really worth making a canoe out of Mikhail's head because you think Sly should have an M-16, which, by the way, would be very hard to carry and use while he pulls off those tricks."

The horse looked uneasy, his trigger finger relaxing slightly. There was silence for a few minutes, and Sly could've sworn that it was so still it could've been a photograph. Then, Marty and Mikhail put their guns away and shook hands, smiles on their faces again.

Once everything was settled, the Cooper Gang lined up in the lab, since there wasn't enough room for that inside the McCoy room. Marty started looking the Cooper Gang over, one by one, and started throwing occasional comments and questions back to his teammates, like "What gauge is that shotgun?"

"Ten."

"I would've liked something more powerful. Can we modify the choke ourselves?"

"Yes, but then the chance of it imploding increases by about ten to sixty percent, depending on how much you modify it."

Or something like "How much ammo have we got for the BAR?"

"Just a little over three hundred."

"That's not nearly enough."

"Well, we could always substitute it with some ammo from the Enfield, or all of it if it isn't used."

It seemed that Penelope was part right, in a way; the McCoy Gang definantly knew guns.

Finally, Marty nodded, and Julio disappeared into their room, then reappeared, tottering under the weight of all the guns they had brought. Marty smacked him with his brown peasant's cap and snarled "Get some help from Mikhail next time" once the guns were in a heap. Marty then sorted through the pile, setting a few aside, discarding others, and pulling their regulars out.

Then, he turned, holding the shotgun, and said "Get the shotgun ammo belts and ten boxes of ammo."

Mikhail disappeared, then reappeared with belts that had empty loops on them for ammo, as well as a crate with the boxes of shells in them. The boxes each held fifteen rounds, so there were easily 150 shells in there. Murray was even more surprised when Marty unceremoniously handed him the scatter gun, the belts, and the ammo.

Murray dropped everything but the belts and said "Two belts? But-"

"Put them across your chest. In an X shape." Said Mikhail.

Murray did as he was told and the result made him look like a bandit.

Marty picked the shotgun and ammo up and handed them to him, saying "You got earplugs?"

Murray nodded, pointing at the ear holes in the mask he was wearing. Bentley had long ago made special electronic earplugs that blocked out loud sounds, but allowed softer sounds like regular speech. This way, none of the gang would go deaf from gunshots or explosions.

Marty pointed to the belts and said "Start filling those up."

Murray nodded and sat down on a seat, ignoring the loud protest it made as his weight settled.

Sly was next. As well as getting his cane back from Bentley, he also got a Beretta semi-automatic. Apparently, Marty and Mikhail had come to a truce, for it had been modified to be an automatic, and also had a longer clip, so instead of six shots, there were eighteen now.

"Wow," he said simply, once he heard about this.

"Yes, it wasn't easy," said Mikhail, drawling slightly in his Russian accent. "Marty, whose passion for firearms is enough to make him dissect every new gun he gets, and Julio, who just plain knows a helluva lot about everything, spent hours fixing it to have more ammo, but still stay the same proportions."

Mikhail seemed to like to go into details when he was laid back, but he almost never smiled.

Penelope, after much discussion and arguing between the McCoy Gang, got a .45 Colt handgun from Julio, who said she needed a form of protection in case she was without her teammates and gadgets.

All of the Cooper Gang noticed that the McCoy Gang never referred to each other as 'friends,' just teammates or comrades or, in Marty's case 'boys.'

Guru didn't get a gun, and that suited him just fine, and he said so in that annoyingly cryptic language he spoke. Marty called it gibberish, Julio called it Aboriginal, and Mikhail said nothing about it at all.

They had no idea what to give Bentley, but the turtle had some ideas of his own. Wheeling over to one of the lab benches, he opened a panel and showed them the experimental retractable machine guns he was creating. They would slide in and out of panels on the arms of his wheelchair, with the barrels pointing out the front. This seemed to fascinate Julio, get Marty interested to a degree, and Mikhail just plain bored.

Heading back upstairs with their new toys, Marty showed Dimitri a new version of his spear gun. With an increased ammo capacity of ten spearsper tube he loaded in, Dimitri could easily use it for above water fighting, as well as still effectively use it underwater.

The Panda King had been unable to come at all, leaving Julio and Bentley to have to team together to try and replace his explosive skills. Sly was thinking of showing Mikhail a few basic moves from the Thievius Raccoonus, and Murray, wanting to see how strong Marty was, challenged him to a boxing match, which caught everyone's attention. Mikhail and Julio looked at their boss with keen interest, for apparently, Marty had never had an opponent in a friendly brawl. Finally, after a few minutes, Marty agreed.

"We can hold off target practice until tomorrow." He said, tipping his peasant's cap back on his head.

"Target practice?" said Sly, holding up his gun, which was fully loaded. "Don't you just point and fire?"

Mikhail, cursing,darted forward, seizing the Beretta, and pulled the clip out, then handed both back to Sly, saying "Don't aim a gun at all unless you intend to destroy your target. Did you want to destroy Marty? No? Good, then keep your gun holstered and unloaded until we're out in the field."

Marty sighed at Sly's question and said "No, you see, that's with a shotgun."

He looked pointedly at Murray, who pulled said shotgun from the sheath attached to one of the belts and showed, barrel pointing down, that it was unloaded.

Satisfied, Marty turned back to Sly and said "With a rifle or pistol, you get one bullet, and it just doesn't make sense to simply point the gun in the direction of your target and fire. Unless you're swinging an automatic, there's going to be a thousand to one odds that you'll hit your target. You all need to get some practice. Even if you don't for a short time, your skills could get rusty. It happens to everyone. Now, as long as no one's intending to blow anyone up, Murray, let's get some boxing equipment and get started, shall we?"


	6. Mirror, Mirror

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Paris, France**

**6:14 am**

**5 minutes after the end of the previous chapter**

Everyone was in the hazard room, even Dimitri, who, with Marty and Murray's help, was transported downstairs, if you can call 'transported' involving a lot of jostling and bumping. This also happened in the small crowd surrounding the door. Bentley, Penelope, and Julio were setting up a low level laser barrier underneath the platform that the match would be held on. There was a smaller, slightly higher platform next to it that everyone else would be watching from.

As Murray and Marty eased Dimitri onto a seat on the platform, eagerness shone on both of their faces. It also showed in various ways from the spectators. Julio was enthusiastic, Sly was self-assured that Murray couldn't lose, Mikhail was bored, Guru was shouting some quick nonsense to Murray, and Bentley and Penelope were running quick tests on a laptop, calculating the odds.

Finally, as Murray and Marty hauled themselves onto the ring and everyone else clambered onto the spectator platform, Bentley, Penelope and Julio engaged the barrier, and a blood red electric layer began pulsing beneath the two platforms. Marty pulled his gear on, his face expressionless, his eyes on Murray, who was grinning from ear to ear, already in the boxing gloves and dancing on his feet, eager to move.

As soon as the horse finished, Bentley said "Alright you two, first one down for ten seconds is the loser. Make this as fair a fight as you can and try not to kill each other. I don't want to have to call a morgue."

It was a bit of black humor.

On a fast note, Sly turned and said "No 'color commentary' this time Dimitri."

The lizard slumped in his seat and winced, muttering something in which the words "Rooty-poot, two-bit, cracker box" were distinguishable amid the rest of his sentence, which was slurred.

Bentley rang the bell, and the fight started!

Or, at least, the match started. Murray had dug in, waiting for Marty to come rushing at him, ready to defend. Instead, however, Marty simply stood there, watching him. Cautiously, Murray took a few steps forward, fists raised, and that's when Marty struck. With lightening speed, he sunk his fist into Murray's gullet, causing the hippo to reflexively bend over, and Marty kneed him in the chest, bringing a fist down on his broad back at the same time. Murray staggered away, drawing breath, putting his fists back up.

_'__Damn! That hurt! I don't even know what the hell he did to me, he was moving so fast!'_

Marty, thinking quickly about what the hippo might do, put his fists close together up near his head, shifting weight from one foot to the other.

This action did not go unnoticed by Murray, who thought, with glee, _'Ah, HA! He's expecting an uppercut, or a jab to the face. Hmm, knowing guys like him, he's probably setting me up, trying to get me to strike at his stomach. Well, who am I to deny him that?'_

Murray grinned, then took a swipe at the horse's exposed torso, cutting it short a foot before impact, and jerking his fist upward, connecting with Marty's jaw. This caught the muscle-bound equine off-guard, and he stumbled back, then staggered as Murray tackled him around the middle. Throwing the hippo off, Marty quickly scrambled up, wiping some blood off his chin as he looked at the hippo with slight admiration in his eyes. He pulled off his gloves and dove forward at the exact same moment that Murray did, their hands meeting in midair, their faces only inches away from each other as they locked into a power struggle. Whoever made the slightest tip of the scales would have the upper hand. Both Murray and Marty wore smirks as the sweat poured off their faces, soaking their shirts as each pushed harder, trying to make some slight change. The rest of the two gangs watched with baited breath, Mikhail even cocked an eyebrow, a curious expression on his face. Having all their attention focused on the two muscle-bound men in front of them, all were oblivious to what was going on anywhere else.

**Meanwhile, upstairs…**

Ever notice how dark true blackness is? It's like the old expression, concerning not seeing your hand in front of your face. Well, multiply that by ten, maybe even fifty, and you'd be somewhere on the right track. Carmelita Fox was two miles down that track as she started to come around. The first thing she became aware of was the pain that seemed to come from every part of her body. She experimentally tried to wiggle her fingers and toes. Instantly, lightening-quick pain shot through three of her limbs as they gave only a feeble movement response. She groaned lightly, clenching her teeth, which sped up the dull throb in her sore jaw.

_'Well, at least I got my gun hand to work with.'_

She intended to lift her arm to examine it and find out the damage, when she realized she was bound to the bed she was on.

"Madre y Dios," she said under her breath.

Obviously, her captors had healed her to a degree, then bound her so she couldn't arrest them. What would they do next? She decided she would find out eventually. She'd play the chameleon game, making them think she was still out while she was really awake and hopefully find out their plans.

**Mexico City**

**7:23 am**

The door was thrown open, and Muggshot stormed into his penthouse, recently reconstructed to fit his style and size.

"WHY!" he thundered to no one in particular. "WHY CAN'T I GET RID OF THAT STICK-PACKING RAT'S GANG!"

He snarled, then pulled his machine guns off his back, turned, and started blasting cardboard cutouts of the Cooper Gang. Sly's head was already gone, and Bentley's belly had a large hole in it, but he hadn't done much of anything to the others. Now, however, he focused his fire on Dimitri's cutout, blasting the image of the lizard from head to toe. Once his anger had subsided slightly, and his guns smoking from overheating, he strapped the firearms across his back. Muggshot had always made his own guns, but they always had one potential weakness; they were extremely vulnerable to heat. If he fired for too long, or there was a large and powerful heat source nearby, his guns would instantly jam. The more delicate parts would met slightly, rendering the weapons useless. It only took a few seconds for the guns to cool down, but he knew that as long as that flaw was still there, he had a weakness.

Muggshot rolled over to his large armchair and plopped down into it, thinking, which was something he didn't do often. Now that their lizard friend was riddled with bullets, the rest of the gang was sure to come after him. Well, he'd have a surprise or twofor them. He slammed his hand down on a button, a buzzer sounded elsewhere, and the doors flew open again as a Doberman Pincher, carrying a Tommy gun, rushed into the room, dressed in a blue suit and smoking a cigar.

A blue fedora sat perched on his head as he drew himself up to full height and said "Boss?"

Muggshot smirked. This town would do anything for him, and through the Doberman, he intended to use full benefit of that.

"Vinny, I've heard a rumor that the Cooper Gang will be intending to pay me a visit. Double the patrols, and shorten the business hours to 9am-5pm instead of 6am-1pm. Oh, and Vinny?"

"Yes, boss?"

"After business hours, all visitors, and I mean ALL visitors, are to be greeted with a HAIL OF LEAD!"

He roared the last part, and Vinny started scurrying out of the room, closing the door behind him. Muggshot waited for a few seconds, then pulled out a cell phone and started dialing. Before he did, however, he studied himself. There was an eight pointed star shaped scar on his cheek, where that cop hag had fired her first and last shots when she busted him back in Holland. Trading his pilot's cap for a cowboy hat, he'd changed a few other things as well. The pilots' jacket he kept, and underneath he wore a muscle shirt that was tight over his chest. He knew, or at least thought, that girls loved to see his pecs, so he showed them off constantly. He'd never liked the pilots' pants, so he'd traded them in for some ordinary blue jeans. To him, nothing was more comforting than a gun, a bucket of beer, and a pair of blue jeans.

Smiling at his tough face, he dialed a number only a few people knew. There was a ring on the other end. Two rings.

On the third ring, the phone was picked up and a voice said "Rodriguez Auto Shop, how can I help you?"

Muggshot rolled his eyes. The idiot hadn't gotten caller ID yet.

"Listen, Roberto, it's me. Now, I have a favor to ask of you."

Roberto Rodriguez was one of the only people in Mexico City where you could get any car outfitted with any kind of weapon, be it gun, bomb, or spiky battering ram.

Immediately, Roberto dropped the act and said "What kind of favor?"

Muggshot grinned to himself and said "Y' know that town that regularly ships to Europe, y' know, Tampico? Well, I'd like an SUV to be delivered to my boys there. They'll know what to do with it. Give it the works."

The Chihuahua on the other end smiled and said "It'll cost you big this time."

Muggshot waved the air, as if Roberto could actually see him, and said "Whatever it takes. Just make sure you're not caught. I may call in for another one for another city. Who knows?"

As Muggshot hung up, a plan began to take root in his mind, and he smiled fiendishly. That rat would either be crawling back to his hole with a smoking ass or…he wouldn't return at all.

**Paris, France**

**6:45 am**

Everyone was climbing out of the hazard room, chatting to one another, worked up by the match, which had come out in a tie. Eventually, Marty and Murray had broken out of their power struggle at the same time, smiled, and shook hands. Now, Marty and Murray both came back from outside, where they cooled off by dunking each others' heads in the fountain. It had its fun, but now it was back to business.

Bentley had started setting up his slideshow, hooking up the projector to his laptop, also hooking a cordless mouse to the computer. Once everyone was inside and sitting in chairs around the table the projector was on, Bentley dimmed the lights, then started the slideshow, using his mouse as a stylus to modify the pictures if need be. The first slide showed a picture of Muggshot that had been graciously acquired by the Interpol Mexican HQ.

"Now, we all know that this is Muggshot. We also know he's hiding out in Mexico City. What we don't know is what kind of defenses he's set up for us. Which is exactly why I've decided to proceed with our end of the deal with the McCoy Gang; we take down-I mean-out the Shuker brothers."

The next two slides had pictures of the rats. One of them was dressed in a leather jacket and torn jeans, while the other was wearing a tuxedo and top hat, with a monocle on one eye. Both the brothers had guns, and while Hanz was carrying an Uzi in full view, Lars had a snub-nosed revolver hidden in his sleeve. The next slide showed a butcher shop on the other side of town.

"Now, this weapons racket that's in the upper story of this butcher shop is the primary supplier of Hanz's guns and ammunition. If we take it out, we'll cripple him slightly."

Bentley flicked through three more shops, a fish mart, a jewelry store, and a car dealership; all of which Bentley said had rackets hidden in them.

"If we can take out all the rackets that Hanz controls, he'll start to lose money. If he doesn't have money-"

The next slide showed five or six ducks with machine guns standing in front of Hanz's HQ, an old warehouse nearby.

"-then he can't hire his mercenary goon squads, not only making it so he'll start losing his war with the police, but also so he'll be wide open for an assault. However, if things get too grim for him, he'll flee the country, so we need to stop him before that happens."

The slideshow stopped the lights were turned back on, and Bentley faced the others, saying "Any questions?"

There was silence for a few seconds, then-

"Yeah, when are you going to untie me?"

Everyone turned towards the sound of the voice to see Inspector Carmelita Fox laying there, wide awake and giving Sly a hurt look.


	7. Now Things Get Interesting

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Paris, France**

**6:52 am**

Sly blinked, a shocked expression on his face. No one moved. At all.

"Madre y Dios! I'm supposed to be looking at the famous Cooper and McCoy gangs, but all I see is a bunch of ass-brained tontos and a backstabbing bastard."

Sly's ears pinned back across his skull, ashamed of not telling her the truth sooner. Slipping a butterfly knife out of his pocket, he deftly flipped opened the blade, then stepped over and cut her bonds. Not like she was going anywhere.

Carmelita instinctively tried to sit up, forgetting her broken limbs, and a cry of pain rang through the room as Sly gently helped her back down.

"Easy there, Carmelita. You're all but shattered inside. Just lay here and- oof!"

The last part was when Carmelita clocked him over the head with her right hand, sending Sly sprawling onto the floor. When he didn't get up, she smiled, thinking she'd knocked him out, but when he raised an arm and lifted one finger in the direction of the ceiling, she frowned slightly.

"OK, I deserved that and more."

"You don't know how MUCH more, but I'll be glad to give it to you," the furious vixen snarled, raising her fist again.

Marty, Mikhail, and Julio had all drawn guns and were painting bull's-eyes on her forehead in their minds.

Carmelita frowned, then said "Tell your thugs to stop aiming at me. I'm already annoyed and I don't want to- oh DAMN IT!" she yelled as a shot rang out and a bullet hole appeared about an inch above her face.

If she had the power to melt into objects, she'd already be gone. As it was, she could only attempt to flatten herself against her cot, attempting to give them less to aim at. This procedure only came up with less than desirable results.

Julio, although his Buntline revolver didn't have its wire frame stock or detachable scope like he would have preferred, was cocking the handgun again, ready to fire another shot over the vixen when Sly's hand snapped up and knocked the barrel of the weapon aside, causing the next slug to plant itself in the bulletproof window five feet away from where Carmelita lay. Julio also got slapped over the head twice, once by Marty and again by Mikhail. Marty then launched into cursing Julio in Italian, while Mikhail started insulting the wolverine in Russian. Julio could understand them both, and cowered in fear, dropping his gun onto the ground.

This went on for several minutes, until Marty finished with something that, roughly translated, went along the lines of "Don't do that again you sonovafatbitch."

Mikhail kicked Julio in the side, spat something in Russian, then simply stood and glowered at the mass of shuddering fur in front of him.

Marty turned toCarmelita and said "My apologies. We simply drew our guns because we thought you were going to attempt to kill Cooper."

"Don't get your hopes up that I won't." Carmelita muttered.

Marty continued as if he hadn't heard her.

"Sometimes, we do things impulsively. It's the number one rule of living by the gun; don't think, just act."

Carmelita scoffed, then muttered a few curses under her breath in Spanish. Finally, she turned and said, obviously reluctantly, "Apology…accepted."

Marty nodded and said "I'm Marty McCoy. The panther is Mikhail Leonov, and this idiot who tried to shoot you," he kicked Julio again, but not as hard this time. "Is Julio an Raj Benedek."

Carmelita gave the horse a curious look as she studied all their faces.

"How…old are you, exactly?"

Marty sighed, then replied "You have no idea how many people have asked me that. I'm eighteen, my birthday was just a few months ago, Mikhail will be twenty in six weeks, and Julio is sixteen."

"Going on seventeen!" said the wolverine defensively, standing back up and holstering his gun.

Aside from a few bruises and scrapes, he looked fine, as if they did this to each other all the time. The rest of the Cooper Gang looked shocked as they heard the words pass through Marty's lips, with Julio's confirming them.

Bentley was the first to say something, and it came out as "You're-but-uh-WHAT!"

The second person to say something was Sly, when he said "Everyone out! I need to…uh…explain a few things to Carmelita."

The intimidating look on his face made even Mikhail cancel any second thoughts he might have had, and soon, everyone had trooped out, very quickly.

Sly turned to Carmelita, sighed, and pulled up a chair, sitting down and saying "It actually began back on Kaine Island…"

**Meanwhile**

**Across Town**

'Slick' Hanz Shuker stubbed out his cigarette, glaring at the beaver standing in front of him. Casually, Hanz pulled out his Uzi, modified with a silencer, stock, and an expanded ammunition magazine. Loading the gun, he turned back to the beaver, looking the gun over like an inspector, all the while pointing it at the frantic beaver in front of him.

"Now," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, his German accent rolling off his tongue, "Why did you fail me?"

The beaver almost instantly replied "It was a mistake, monsieur, a mistake! We never realized that the police hired a mercenary tank until it was too late! We had no way of knowing until it crashed through the wall! We-"

"Silence!" shouted Hanz, drawing a bead on theforehead of thebeaver, who instantly shut up.

The rat narrowed his eyes and hissed "Now, this time, take as many men that you need, other than the guards just outside the door, and try AGAIN. There's a small, uh…helper in a box out in the compound. It should be just coming in. Use it to take out that tank."

The beaver, a relieved look on his face, turned to leave when Hanz said "AND…" The beaver turned back, panic flashing across his face. Hanz continued "I want you to take out a certain Interpol officer for me. She is a relative of Stern, and killing her will put the Chief into depression. Her name is…" Hanz's eyes flicked around the room briefly and he said, in an undertone "Lieutenant Caroline Newkirk. She is British by nationality."

The beaver nodded, but had one last comment.

"What species is she, monsieur?"

Hanz had a smug look on his face as he said "A Black Labrador. The only one on the force. She should be an easy target."

**Meanwhile**

**At Interpol HQ**

Said easy target was currently at the gun range, testing a new automatic weapon that was to be put into active use. As each target popped up, another one would appear behind it, but would be thicker, and then a third, but with a bullet proof vest. There was a bull's-eye behind that target. As each row fell, the gun began to get hot, and her ammunition was starting to run out. She was starting to think it would've been a good idea to wear gloves.

Finally, the gun clicked on empty, and she took it down from her shoulder, looking at the bull's-eye at the end with disgust. The shots were all over the place. Hardly any of them had hit the center. Some hadn't even hit the target at all.

A sudden thought entered her head and she pulled another magazine out of her ammunition pouch. Technically, this gun wasn't new, but a remake of the WWII Russian sub-machine gun, the PPSH. Before, it had a 71 round drum clip.

Impressive, yes?

Well, now, consider this; the new version had 137 rounds per clip, all coated with Teflon, making them armor piercing.

Pulling a single round out of the new magazine, the Labrador inspected it, then bit into the slug. Instantly, the taste of copper and Teflon flooded her mouth, and she grimaced in disgust. Taking the round out of her mouth, she looked at the slug. It had bent. The slightest pressure caused the round to change shape, also changing the trajectory.

Caroline sighed, then tossed the round onto the range, pulled off her ear and eye protection, then gave a thumbs up to the operator's booth, signaling the end of the test.

Lt. Caroline Newkirk was in Weapons Research and Development, meaning she not only tested new guns, she created them. However, not all had been going right lately. Her latest experiment had been a failure. She had tried to make a shotgun that could fire a further range, but only succeeded in creating a handheld bomb. One officer had lost an arm because it hadn't been tested before it went into the field. So, instead, she had gone into the automatics department. This was her first experiment in that area of expertise, and so far, it was goingalong okay. However, the heat that the gun made when it fired would definantly be a problem, as well as the modified rounds.

Caroline opened the door to the Weapons Research and Development department, also known as W R&D, and walked over to her portion of the laboratory. Bazookas, grenade launchers, pistols, sniper rifles and automatics were all over the place. Caroline preferred a Spas 12 shotgun and plenty of ammo over any of the other guns. Everyone scoffed at her, saying that the age of scatterguns in warfare was finished, but Caroline stayed firm on her beliefs, whatever they were.

In one corner, another officer watched as a scientist was preparing a shock rifle for testing. They were supposed to be more powerful, have faster reloading, and be more accurate than the standard shock pistol that Interpol used.

Caroline rolled her eyes as the scientist bragged about his weapon to the officer, who looked bored. As soon as she got to her desk and lay her equipment down, she say the note flashing on her computer screen;

_See me as soon as you can. _

_Chief_.

Caroline sighed. Why couldn't he just use the term 'Uncle?' That's what he was. She was his niece, and although he was an American, her mother had moved to Britain. She had joined up with Interpol solely because she wanted to be an officer. Had anyone told her she had the brains to become a scientist, she would've laughed in their faces. She never considered herself smart, and never bragged about anything, preferring to criticize herself. It helped her realize her mistakes so she could do better next time.

Caroline rolled her eyes againas she walked back out, heading towards Chief Stern's office. However, before she could get to the elevator that went up to the floor her was on, there was a blur, and a body stood in her way. She stopped short, and had to control herself from putting a look of disgust on her face. Standing in front of her was one of the MOST obnoxious officers in Interpol; Private Leon Richardson. He was a Porcupine that had been trying to get her to go out with him for a year now.

Wearing a smug look, he said "Well, Carol, didn't expect to see you up this early. Or perhaps you came to see someone special?"

His eyes gave away his thoughts as they raked over her body; again. The pervert.

She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and said, annoyed, "Its Caroline, and when you're talking to me, Richardson, you better do it with more respect, because I can and eventually WILL report you for sexual harassment. And I came because this is my shift, and you know that, you damn pin head."

Richardson's eyes flashed with anger, but his attitude remained just as snobby, as he clapped a hand over his heart, staggered back and said "Such ugly language from such a pretty mouth. You wound me, Miss Newkirk-"

"Its just Newkirk to you, slime ball!" Caroline snarled, grabbing a book from a passing officer and using it to push Richardson aside.

How someone like that had been assigned to the Medical Research Center, she figured she'd never know.

Taking the elevator up, her hands balled into fists as she recounted all the times he'd followed her around, always making cracks like that. As the door opened, she found herself face to face with one of her only friends at Interpol; Corporal Lily Michaels. Lily was part of the Pursuit Force, and she did her job really well. She may have been a giraffe, but she could always squeeze into a car without effort, or jump between cars, returning fire at criminals who were shooting at her. Her neck never gave her a problem since she and it were a little on the short side. Obviously, she'd just come out of the Chief's office, because her face was bright red and she looked more than a little huffed. However, on seeing their friends' face, both girls perked up.

"Caroline? I thought your shift starts in-" Lily checked her wristwatch. "Five minutes! What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing!" exclaimed Caroline. "Your shift doesn't start for another hour."

Lily giggled a bit, then said "I had to come and see if Tim was here."

Of course. Lily's partner, Tim Bronstein, was a shy Jaguar from the North American Interpol HQ. He spoke Portuguese often, his family line's born language, but no one understood him but Lily, who had the biggest crush in the world on him.

Caroline sighed and said "How can you keep up with what he says? I can barely understand him half the time he speaks, and the other half he's talking so fast it takes me a few minutes to sort out what he says."

Lily blushed, then said "Well…uh…you don't need to know." She quickly changed the subject. "So, what are you doing here?"

Caroline sighed again and said "I wanted to test out a new gun. It fires without exploding this time, but the new rounds are sensitive to pressure. Whenever they hit something and go through it, they change shape and go on a completely different path."

Lily shook her head and remarked "See, this is why you should be in Pursuit Force; you know guns, you're fit, you're smart, and you don't have the scientific geeky look!"

Indeed, she didn't. Caroline liked wearing British army fatigues often, which consisted of a long sleeved button up shirt, and a pair of tan shorts. Normally, soldiers would also get a backpack and a helmet, but Caroline simply wore a bulletproof vest underneath and a holster strapped to her thigh.

Realizing she was spending too much time chatting, she quickly said "I need to go. Uncle called me up to his office, and it seemed urgent."

Lily shook her head and said, glumly, "He's real pissed, so don't go the wrong way. Sly and Inspector Fox have gone missing, and he's calling in the best of every department, trying to form a search party. I told him I have trouble at home with my parents, and he goes all ballistic on me. Anyway, good luck!"

She scurried away just as Caroline registered a sick feeling in her stomach. Walking forward slowly, she knocked and said "You asked to see me, Uncle?"

Stern sighed and motioned for her to come in. He never liked it when she called him 'Uncle' during working hours. Shutting the door behind her, Caroline took a seat and waited.

Stern finished signing something, then looked at her, taking off his reading glasses as he said "I don't like being called 'Uncle' here."

"Well that's what you are. Now, what did you call me in here for, other than ancient history?" she snapped.

Stern sighed, rubbing his temples as he leaned back and said "As you may have heard, Constable Cooper and Inspector Fox have disappeared in the field. Their last known location was two miles Southwest of West Berlin, when they reported in, a few weeks ago, on a raid. They weren't seen or heard from again. I'm organizing a search party. This just may get you the respect you deserve here, Caroline."


	8. Yin and Yang

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Paris, France**

**8:31 am**

"…and, that's basically it in a nutshell." Sly said as he finished explaining his story to an all but motionless Carmelita.

The vixen simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling, her face emotionless. Sly knew he could wait. And he did. 10 minutes, half an hour, an hour. The time rolled by until it had finally been two hours and Carmelita still hadn't said anything.

Just when Sly was about to call Bentley in, she finally said, in barely more than a whisper, "So, all those times we watched the news…about the rest of your gang…and you always wanted to know why they stole things…it was…an act?"

Sly nodded, not knowing where this was going.

"And…you gave up your…your freedom…just to be with me?" She looked up at him, confusion written all over her face.

"Why?"

It was that simple word that got Sly from first sitting, dumbstruck, to chuckling, then chortling, and finally, full out, lung bursting laughing. Carmelita got angrier and angrier until she finally slapped him with her good hand, and he stopped at once.

"Answer the question Cooper!" she snarled.

Sly put on a serious face, looked her straight in the eye, and said "Do I really have to say the most obvious thing?"

Carmelita, slightly confused, faltered, looking him straight in the eye. All she could see was hurt. And that's when she realized that he was telling the truth. He HAD indeed lied to be with her; why? Because, even though he had flirted often when she chased him, he had never taken the next step, and he considered himself a coward for that, when he was trying to protect her, because…because he really did care. Although he had lied to her, pretended to have amnesia, and even gone out of his way to not talk about anything from his past, he was still the world's most wanted thief, and as long as he was out in the public eye, they could never be together. So, although he'd had very little time to think about it, his feelings for her obviously meant more to him than his freedom of being a thief. And just that little thought madethe vixenchange her whole attitude.

Slowly, Carmelita reached her uninjured hand up, gripped the collar of Sly's shirt, and, after a moment's wait, yanked him down into a warm, passionate kiss. Tears leaked from her eyes, and she didn't know why, until she realized that Sly was crying too. And for a moment, the world dissolved around them, and they were not an officer and a thief; instead, they were simply two souls drowning in love. And that's all that they both wanted.

**Outside**

**10:43 am**

Marty huffed in the morning air, pulling his wool lined leather jacket around him as he watched the warm vapors of his breath float past his lips and up into the morning air as he set off towards a café that was close by. He'd slipped out the backdoor to get something to eat, since he hadn't had a meal since he left Naples, almost a week ago. He had a suspicion as to what Sly had wanted them out for, but couldn't really understand the subject itself; love. Love meant nothing to him. Friendship didn't even mean anything to him. Julio and Mikhail were partners, nothing more. Sure they'd stuck through a lot over the years, but they were simply with him for the money and thrill. As soon as Don Taloreso was dead, he'd split the money they had, then go off and start his life anew in America. A new name, a new identity, and a clean start. Sure, he hated Americans, but he didn't have to act like one, did he?

He looked up, seeing a sign that read _Le Petite Appetite_. Rolling his eyes at the obvious lack of creativity, he opened the door and stepped in. All he needed was a doughnut and a cup of coffee, and he'd head back to the safe house. Walking up to the counter, he ordered them in broken French, then sat down in the corner, feeling the snub-nosed revolver in his back pocket begin to create an imprint in his rear, as it did every time he sat down. He wouldn't be surprised if he just woke up one morning with a pistol-shaped scar on his ass.

**Meanwhile**

**2 blocks away**

Caroline parked her car, a used Jeep that she'd bought from a shabby salesmen, and started walking towards the café. She'd always preferred walking. She never went to the gym, but always managed to keep in shape, nonetheless. It was her break time, and she was looking for a small snack. A doughnut and some coffee were all she would need to get back up into the game again.

Caroline broke into a jog, heading towards _Le Petite Appetite_. It wasn't really her idea of a gourmet restaurant, but it was good enough for something on the fly.

Upon reaching the door, she swung it open, and would've gone through her usual routine of ordering coffee and a doughnut, then sitting at a table that was almost always unoccupied over in the corner, except…except that someone else was already sitting there.

Someone she recognized.

And not just by walking around town.

The horse that was sitting at her table, obviously waiting for his own order, was none other than Marty McCoy, leader of the ruthless, gun-packing McCoy Gang. There were at least ten wanted posters for him up on the walls of all the Interpol offices, or so she'd been told. Her first instinct was to go for her gun, until she remembered that, being on break, she had left her shock pistol back at the station. After a second or two, she realized that this might be better; if she could befriend him somehow, she might also get him to reveal where his next job was going to be; she could also follow him back to his hideout. The options were unlimited, depending on how she played her cards.

Walking up to the counter to give herself time to think, she ordered her coffee and doughnut, then walked into the middle of the café and weighed her options. Finally, she made her move.

Marty looked up to see something he never thought he'd see; a slightly attractive-at least, in his opinion she was-Black Labrador standing right next to the table, looking at him with a strange expression on her face. It was as if she was a predator, studying her prey. She was absentmindedly playing with her hair, wrapping one golden lock around her finger. He quickly caught himself before his eyes could roll down her body. He was not a pervert; however, that was more than he could say for Julio.

In order to dispel any tension or curiosity that was waving between them, he cleared his throat and said, in his toughest and most intimidating voice, "Can I help you?"

Caroline noticed his eyes, hard and gleaming, obviously trying to both get her to go away and find out what she was up to. His mouth was set in a firm line, but she could tell that his teeth were clenched. It must've taken him a lot of will power not to try and look her over.As far as she knew, McCoy had never had a romantic interest, and the brief histories of the rest of his gang proved he was a down to dirt tough guy who didn't like to waste time. Obviously, he felt that romance WAS a waste of time.

She smiled slightly and said "Yes, I'd just like to let you know that you're sitting in my usual spot. I don't mean to be rude, or anything, I'm just letting you know."

Marty frowned, grunted, and said "You come here often?"

Good lord, was he flirting with her?

She blushed slightly, but to cover it she said "Yes, it's the only café closest to my work that doesn't do highway robbery."

Marty grunted again and said "I'm surprised even the employees come back."

She giggled, not realizing it until it was too late. Oh, great, now he was telling jokes.

Marty was slightly surprised when she laughed. He hadn't meant for it to be funny at all. Just something to get suspicions off him, whatever they were.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he motioned to the other chair and said "Sit down. I'm not going to be very long."

A surprised expression crept up the canine's face, but she pulled the chair back nonetheless and took a seat. For a minute or two, neither spoke, just studied each other. Unfortunately for Marty, his eyes danced down her throat before he could stop himself, and he found himself looking at her chest, where the top button was open and there was a slight amount of cleavage…whipping his eyes back up to hers, he suddenly found himself lost in her eyes. They were so deep, full of curiosity. If he could have, at that moment, he would've banged his head against the window next to him to get rid of the thoughts he was thinking, but that would've frightened the girl. He seriously considered it after that last thought crossed his mind.

Caroline had to say that McCoy was obviously in good condition. His jacket was open and she could see his muscles through his white tank top. He obviously knew how to take care of himself. Then again, Murray Green was fat and still muscular.

Before she could stop herself, she thought _'Hmm…I definantly approve…Oh bloody hell! What am I thinking! Approve of what?'_

Neither one spoke until Caroline extended her hand and said "I'm Caroline."

Marty slowly grasped her hand with his own and simply said "Marty."

Caroline's eyebrows went up and she said "Marty? Are you related to Marty McCoy, by any chance?"

Marty was perfect in timing as he smiled and said "I've been asked that a lot. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to say it again; no, I'm not. McCoy's Italian, I'm from New York."

His accent certainly sounded New York. Could she have made a mistake?

Then she heard his cell phone go off. He quickly whipped it out, checked the caller ID with the screen facing away from her, and opened the phone, saying "What?"

He was quiet for a moment, while Caroline listened intently. Finally, she picked up on first a Hispanic accent, then a nasally one coming from the phone's small speakers.

Score. She had her man alright.

McCoy then said "Alright, don't worry, I'll be there."

As he hung up his phone, a waiter came up with two cups of coffee and two doughnuts. Marty took his and gulped down the hot liquid while Caroline nibbled thoughtfully on her doughnut, watching as he finished swallowing and set the empty mug down with a clank, then stuffed the whole doughnut in his mouth, chewed for a few seconds, then swallowed, rubbed his throat, then stood up, taking his peasant's cap off and inclining his head slightly towards her.

"It was nice meeting you Caroline," McCoy said, slapping his peasant's cap back onto his head. "But I really need to go."

She watched him gotowards then out the doorwith only one thought, but that thought greatly disturbed her; _'Nice arse.'_

She blinked, then smacked her head and muttered "No, bad Caroline, bad."

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she finished her coffee and doughnut quickly, then left after McCoy. As soon as she got out the door, she looked either way and spotted him hurrying away down the street, away from where her car was parked. With a smirk, she set off after him, careful not to make too much noise.

Marty was running away from a cop, he was sure of it. Why else whould she have given him that look, or asked those questions? He dodged down a side alley, taking the long route back to the safe house, unaware of the shadow stalking him. And she was unaware of the shadow stalking HER.


	9. Time Slows Down

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Paris, France**

**11:06 am**

Julio sat on the couch, twirling his handgun on one finger. He had, of course, unloaded it, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that any minute it was going to go off. He was paranoid, and had a right to be, since he'd been on the same ship that had killed his father.

His mother had died during childbirth, and his father, Miguel Juan Benedek, owned a freighter, which he smuggled illegal goods for the black market with. Sure, it was risky, but they needed the money.

However, Miguel's luck ran out when, with a shipment of explosives and his son aboard, he'd run into the police. His sailors had all fought, but they only had pistols, whereas the police had assault weapons and bulletproof vests. Eventually, the officers made it down to the hold, and began to ransack it, looking for the illegal goods.

Miguel had then grabbed an AK-47, took his 10 year old son by the shoulder and said "I won't be around much longer, so you need to promise me something son; never ship for the black market. It's a business no one should be mixed up in. Promise me, son."

Julio had been confused.

"What are you talking about, papi? YOU shipped for them, and what do you mean you won't be around much longer?"

Miguel had simply shaken his head and said "It doesn't matter, just promise me!"

He'd shoved his son closer to the rail as Julio, close to tears, said "I promise. But, papi, I won't leave you!"

"You don't have a choice!" shouted Miguel as he had heaved Julio over the rail and into the water.

It took the wolverine pup two years to learn what happened aboard the ship after that. Only one other man survived, a sailor aboard the ship who lost an arm and a leg in the fight. According to him, Miguel had run into the hold, spraying lead at the police, until he reached the explosives, opened one of the cases, and fired into it. The result was the ship going up in flames in an explosion that also caught the police cruisers with it.

To this day, his father's final words rang in his ears; _You don't have a choice._

Julio never did have a choice.

All through his childhood, he didn't have a choice but to scrounge in the gutters for money, and then after he lost his father and became a teenager, he'd become sullen, and had started starving himself. One day, however, luck was with him when he'd come upon an alley that had been a former battle scene between two gangs. Clenched in one of the corpse's hands, he had found the Buntline revolver he held today, as well as enough ammunition for him to experiment with, fail miserably, try again, and successfully duplicate, since his life was practically all trial and error.

Since that moment, he'd turned to a life of crime. He robbed businesses, had shootouts with street gangs, and sometimes ran a marathon escaping from the police. On his fifteenth birthday, he'd robbed a gun store, and in the back he hit the jackpot that launched his brain swell in motion; in the back of the shop, he'd found several illegal explosives.

At that second, that key in his life's puzzle, his genius grew, and his experimenting began again. He'd snuck into the library and taught himself how to read in order to learn about guns and explosives. He taught himself high mathematics, and his ability to craft more compact but more deadly explosives became stronger. Along the way, his intelligence became larger, and soon he knew things like college level physics, forensics, genetics, and computer hacking. His crimes were put onto a larger scale, and he became notorious, both with the law and out of it.

However, there was one day in Portugal that he would never forget; _two weeks before his sixteenth birthday, he finished his prototype wire frame stock and detachable scope for his Buntline, two days ahead of his predicted schedule. Eager to try them out since he now had some time on his hands, he set up some cans in the alley he called home. He cocked back the hammer and aimed through the scope to line up with his target, but before he could fire, he sensed that someone was in the alley with him. _

_There were been two things that told him this; first, living in the streets, he had become rugged and stronger, and his senses had become more acute, so he could hear the quietest footstep, or the slightest scrape of fabric; or the sound of gunmetal sliding on leather. _

_Second; someone was pointing a gun at the back of his head. This was the more obvious of the two. _

_He turned slowly, hands up and gun pointing straight in the air, to find himself facing an eighteen year old black panther, pointing a silenced Glock at him. Sitting in another holster on his left side was a second silenced Glock. Julio couldn't help but be impressed. Glocks were hard to get on the streets, and off the streets, the guns and silencers were worth top dollar. _

_Before he could take his thoughts any further, a New York accent said "For Christ's sake, Mikhail, put the guns down!" _

_And in stepped Marty McCoy. Well, actually, he stomped in, cracking the pavement in many spots. _

_The seventeen year old horse brushed the gun aside as Mikhail scoffed, then holstered the weapon with a frown creasing his face. Marty then turned to the wolverine. Julio would remember every word of their conversation. _

_"You're Julio an Raj Benedek, right?" _

_"Yeah…" said Julio, immediately suspicious. _

_Marty caught on and smiled, shaking his head and saying "No, no, nothing like that. I simply have an offer for you; I hear you're pretty handy with that six-gun there," _

_Marty pointed at the Buntline in Julio's hand, which was still cocked. _

_"Yeah, so what?" asked Julio, still slightly suspicious. _

_Marty nodded at the cans, which were about seventy feet away. _

_"Let's see you knock 'em down." _

_Julio thought for a second, then said "You first. I want something to compare myself to." _

_Marty shrugged, then, quicker than the eye could catch, drew, aimed, and knocked down four of the six cans. His last shot caused one can to spin, then right itself. Julio ran down, watching his back for signs of treachery, put the cans back up, then came back. Marty reloaded and nodded to Mikhail, who somehow drew even faster. Julio blinked, and it was all over. Five cans were down. Mikhail wordlessly reloaded and holstered his gun. Marty replaced the cans this time, jogging back with an expectant look on his face. Julio took a deep breath and knelt down, putting the gun to his face. Sighting through the scope, he held his breath, waited for a second, then snapped off six quick shots. When the smoke cleared, everyone could see that all the cans were down. Marty grinned, then extended his hand, which Julio shook, slightly confused._

_Ten words explained all; _

_"You've won yourself a spot in the McCoy Gang, Julio."_

Julio was jerked from his train of thought by a certain turtle in a wheelchair whacking him over the head with the same fly swatter he had hit Sly with earlier.

"Hello, Earth to Julio, paging, one, two, three. Geez, I try to talk to you and you just sit there with this blank look on your face and keep twirling your gun. And I thought Sly had a short attention span."

Julio quickly stepped in before Bentley could insult him further.

"What do you want?"

Bentley sighed,as annoyed as the wolverine,and said "We called Marty about five minutes ago, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So where is he? The GPS said he was only a block away. Even at a walk he could…could…"

A sudden thought had entered both of their minds. They stayed stock still for a moment, then Julio stood up and started loading his gun while Bentley checked his bomb and sleep dart stock, both of them moving for the front door.

**Warehouse District**

**11:17 am**

Marty slipped his revolver out of his back pocket as he spotted the shadow for the third time. He wasn't sure who it was, but his gunman's instinct told him that whoever it was obviously was trying to find out were he was hiding out and what he was up to. If it had been one of his teammates, they would've shouted at him, and a police officer with an arrest warrant would have too. If it was an assassin, he could've taken many an opportunity that Marty willingly presented to shoot the horse in the back. No, this person was trying to nail him for something.

Thinking fast, he dove through a window into one of the rundown warehouses, rolling to keep momentum, then springing up and hiding behind a stack of crates.

Silence.

Then, the sound of footsteps going past the window, then stopping, then doubling back.

Marty frowned. This person was not easily shaken.

There came the sounds of boots crunching on broken glass, then the light padding of someone sneaking along, and then...

The sound of softer footsteps.

From outside obviously.

Did the stalker have an assistant?

Then he heard it. The sound of the pump on a shotgun being slowly worked. Marty's eyes widened. This was an assassin, trying to take out his stalker.

Immediately, his options starting running through his head, but only two seemed possible;

1. Stay hidden and let the assassin deal with his target, then leave after him and keep a heavy conscience, and 2. Save his stalker and risk being killed. Not a whole lot of options. Finally, Marty decided to throw caution to the wind; maybe he could knock whoever it was out after he shot the assassin, then leave.

It's amazing how time simply slows down with not only the pulsing of adrenaline, but also the thought of seeing imminent death in the form of a lump of lead flying straight at you. All this thinking happened in about a fraction of a second.

Taking a deep breath, Marty cocked his revolver, then leapt around the corner, barreling after the stalker and firing a shot at each of the six windows, then risking another on the broken one, and finally, connecting with the person and feeling his last shot go wild. He heard a blast from the shotgun, but it seemed to be aimed upwards since he heard the lead pellets pummel the ceiling before he and the stalker hit the floor. He quickly stood up, cocking his revolver again, aware that it was empty, and found that his stalker was none other than…

(A/N; I'm gonna be gone for summer camp soon, so if you don't get an update in at least two weeks, don't panic.)


	10. Lock, Stock, and a Dozen Smoking Barrels

(A/N: Ok, Soory about taking so long. I went to SIX, count 'em, SIX summer camps, and then school started. BUT, I will let you all know that I have NOT abandoned this story. Not yet, not EVER! And so, to make it up to you fine, lovely readers who gave me all the nice reviews, and those of you who will in the future, I have extended this chapter to almost three-and-a-half THOUSAND words. So, read and enjoy! Oh, PS, there are three gunfights in here. Don't say I didn't warn you!)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Paris, France**

**Old Warehouse District**

**11:20 am**

Caroline.

She lay there on the floor of the warehouse, on top of broken glass, unconscious, since Marty's weight of two hundred and nineteen pounds had practically fallen on her at a speed of about seven or eight mph, which is pretty fast at a run.

Marty frowned, a snarl coming to his lips, for poking out of a pocket on Caroline's shirt was something gold. He knelt down and pulled it out, then blinked as he found himself clutching an Interpol badge.

He growled, muttering "I knew it."

Caroline was a cop.

Marty stuffed the badge back into her pocket and looked around. All six windows that had remained intact were now broken, with a small groove in the frame of the one he had dove through. The groove must've been where his bullet had gone when he fired his shot at it.

Although the revolver was empty, he held it at arm's length, down at his waist, and crept over towards the side of the window. After a second or two, he leapt out, clutching the gun in both hands, hoping to scare whoever it was.

But there was no one there.

Instead, Marty found a shotgun laying just outside the warehouse with blood on the stock and on the ground around it. Stepping over to it, he was about to pick it up when he saw something else; a small, Maltese cross, made of steel, painted a blood-red, was laying next to the gun. Slipping the revolver back into his pocket, Marty reached for the cross, cautiously, and turned it over. There was an S painted in green on the other side. That's when he cursed himself for a fool.

"Dammit!" he snarled, kicking the cross aside. "That's Shuker's calling card! He's after Caroline!"

Picking up the shotgun, Marty hurried back, making sure that no one had circled around to get to Caroline. She was still there, still alone, and still unconscious. Marty sighed, knowing that if he left her here, he'd have a heavy conscious, and never live with himself. If Shuker was hunting her, she'd never be safe.

Setting the shotgun down, he slid an arm beneath the knocked out canine, then lifted her up, onto his shoulder. She didn't weigh very much, at least, not to him, so it wasn't too difficult to support her there.

Pulling out his cell phone, he speed-dialed Bentley's binocucom, then listened as the shrill ringing reached his ear. After the second ring, Bentley answered.

"Marty! Oh, thank god you're alive! Julio and I are looking for you right now. You're ten minutes late! What the hell do you have to say for yourself?"

Marty sighed, rolling his eyes. "Relax, mom, I ran into some, uh, difficulties. I'll explain it when I get back, just try and do without me."

He hung up before Bentley could protest, snapping the phone shut, sliding it into his pocket, then bending down, picking up the shotgun again, and going on his way. He'd have to stay in the shadows and avoid being seen carrying a cop. This was going to take a while.

**Meanwhile, Across Town**

**11:25 am**

Bentley scowled as he and Julio made their way back to the safe house. Marty obviously didn't know it, but he was a crucial part to two of the four plans they had made. The four rackets, a gambling den in a fish market, a drug dealer in a jewelry store, an explosives cache in a car dealership, and a weapons dealer in a butcher shop, all had coordinated strikes against each. Working together, the Cooper and McCoy gangs would take down each, until only the weapons racket was left. That place had high security in the form of about half a dozen shotgun packing bouncers. If they managed to get the explosives from the racket at the car dealership, they could simply get everyone out of the store at the bottom, then blow the place sky high without setting foot up there. Right about now, Sly and Murray were getting into position at the fish market…

**Meanwhile, Across Town**

**11:32 am**

And, indeed, they were, as Murray chugged through the streets and Sly leapt over the rooftops. The market they were looking for didn't really have a name, but they knew which one had the gambling den.

As Sly hit the street about ten feet away from the fish market's front, Murray came running up behind him, huffing at the effort. Sly pulled out his automatic pistol, checking the load and safety as Murray did the same with his shotgun. Once they were done, they nodded to each other. Now was the moment when the Cooper Gang became gunslingers.

Murray charged the door, knocking it down with ease, grinning at the satisfying crash as splinters flew. Sly rushed in behind him, pulling the trigger as he saw a frog in the corner pull a handgun out. A stream of bullet holes appeared, starting on the table where he had been sitting, continuing up, interrupting as they went over the amphibian's chest, sending splashes of red over his shirt and the table, then continuing up the wall a ways. Murray was already rapidly pumping lead into a flamingo and a duck as both pulled guns out. Sly whirled around, hearing the sound of a gun cocking, and saw the shop owner, a fat black bear, pulling a sawn-off double barreled shotgun out, aiming it at their backs. Sly yanked the trigger, sending the rest of the clip into the shop owner's chest, sending the bear crashing backwards into a display case, his finger jerking the trigger, causing the gun to blast a hole into the ceiling.

And then, just like that, it was over.

Sly and Murray stopped to catch their breath, looking around at the destruction they'd caused. The display case was crushed and shattered beneath the bear, whose apron was covered in his own blood. The frog in the corner lay slumped in his chair, his shirt and the table stained red. The flamingo's head was gone, blown off by Murray's shotgun, his neck pumping blood onto the floor. The duck hadn't fared much better. Half of his face was gone, and his chest had been blown open. Blood was everywhere.

As Murray and Sly took in this horrific scene, they were devastated. Who knew killing someone like this could feel this bad? There was emptiness. Murray had expected the usual feeling of triumph over his foes, but it wasn't the same as throwing a man off a cliff or into water, or into an electric fence; it felt worse. The Cooper Gang tried to avoid casualties as much as they could, but sometimes there was the guard who wouldn't give up, and would simply attack over and over again who simply needed to be put down. Well, the rules had been rewritten.

As Sly and Murray stood there, mulling it over, a French accent-laden voice shouted "Look what those bastards did!"

Sly and Murray looked up, for the voice had come from there. Another duck was looking through the hole in the ceiling, and judging from the thudding, there were more people up there too. Sly and Murray hurried for the stairs, taking them two at a time. This time, however, the door was locked and barricaded. Murray's method of fixing this was simple; put the shotgun up to the lock and pull the trigger. The lock was blown off, into the room, and Murray only had to kick the door to knock it open. At once, another storm of shooting broke out again, as one of the ducks kicked over a poker table for cover, and the other two scrambled behind it. The dealers had also pulled guns, while the gamblers were running out any way they could. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Sly pulled the trigger, only to hear the distinctive _clack!_ which meant empty. While he reloaded, Murray fired rapidly, first blowing the table over, then blasting the three ducks, trying to aim low. When he ran out of ammo, however, he was open to the dealers, who all had magnum pistols. But before they could get off half a dozen shots together, Sly was waving his pistol around, holding the trigger. Blood spurted, cries of pain echoed, and guns roared as each found out where the bullets were coming from. Again, this lasted only a short time. Sly once more heard the distinctive _clack!_ of an empty gun. Slowly, he lowered the pistol, then holstered it. There was no need for reloading now. Everyone, except him and Murray, was dead. Sly felt waves of nausea hit him hard, and he fought to hold down his lunch.

He succeeded, but Murray didn't. Instead, the hippo vomited all over the floor.

**Meanwhile, Across Town**

**11:46 am**

Penelope and Mikhail were getting into position to take the drug dealer's racket at the jewelry shop, but in a more casual way.

They walked.

Of course, they both wore knee-length overcoats to conceal their holstered weapons, but they were definantly doing things a lot more casual than Sly and Murray.

The door wasn't locked, so Mikhail opened it and they went inside. There were only two or three customers, but there was a beaver over in the corner wearing an overcoat similar to their own. One arm across his belly and the hand under his coat suggested a shotgun or a machine gun, while a bulge under his left armpit also suggested a handgun. The beaver was eyeing them suspiciously, but Mikhail casually walked over to one of the counters and began chatting with one of the cashiers, a hyena who was currently typing on a computer. As they talked, Penelope began to dread what was coming. How does one 'normally' kill a whole bunch of people and put a racket out of business, you might ask?

There is no 'normal' way.

They found this out when two flamingos charged downstairs, both hefting shotguns, and yelled "COOPER GANG!" then started blasting away. Mikhail and Penelope hit the ground, both pulling their guns, but some of the customers and cashiers weren't as lucky. The hyena took a load of buckshot in the chest and was blown backwards over the display case. As the flamingos reloaded, the beaver made his play, pulling out a sawn-off and firing that in one hand while drawing and firing the handgun with the other hand. When the sawn-off clicked, he simply threw it aside and kept up with the pistol, moving around until he was opposite of the flamingos, so they had a crossfire going over the display cases, which were assembled in a pentagon shape.

Suddenly, Mikhail and Penelope leapt up, back to back, guns out and blazing. Penelope snapped off all seven shots in her .45, only one hitting the beaver, but it was enough. The gangster crumpled like a wet paper bag. Mikhail's Glocks were held steady as he fired shot after shot into the flamingos, both of which were already dead on their feet. Finally, his guns clicked on empty, and the flamingos fell.

There was silence.

Penelope was wide-eyed, looking around at the destruction. Her eyes fell on the hyena, whose chest and belly had been blown open. She thought that was the worst of it.

Then she looked over at the beaver she'd shot; and retched.

The water mammal's face was frozen in a mask of shock and pain, his mouth stretched in a scream that had never come. Despair and devastation filled the little mouse, and she almost dropped her gun as she retched again. Sure, she had killed, but only once before. Now it was two men.

She fought to control her stomach as Mikhail simply reloaded and watched her. Then, he placed a hand on her shoulder and said "It's alright. It always happens after the first ones. After awhile, you get used to it, but you never enjoy it. Only a cold-blooded murderer actually enjoys killing."

Penelope swallowed with difficulty and nodded. Mikhail shrugged out of the overcoat, revealing the two ammo belts strapped across his waist. Marty had warned everyone that whenever shooting started in a firefight, it was difficult to stop until you had to reload. Mikhail suffered this almost all the time, and went through more ammunition than Marty and Julio.

Making his way for the stairs, Mikhail cocked his pistols, ready to blast down whatever got in his way. When no one did, Penelope followed him to the door at the top. As soon as they were on either side of it, Mikhail kicked out against the wood. While the strike might not have been as effective as if Marty had done so, it had the same outcome. The door flew open, and there was a split second of silence. Then, the door hit the wall. There was only the drug dealer, a dirty looking mole sitting at a desk, and a few gunmen, but a few is enough. Mikhail fired shot after shot, switching from target to target while Penelope managed to get around the shooting and knock the drug dealer out with the handle of her pistol. Then, it was over. The gunmen, a frog, a duck and a flamingo, all had enough holes in them to look like cheese graters, albeit, cheese graters pouring blood out of still warm chests. Penelope rummaged through the mole's goods and desk while Mikhail began tying him up, then hastily scrawling a note in French and pinning it to the drug dealer's jacket.

"Not much," muttered Penelope, holding up a few crumpled bills. "He had close to a hundred American dollars, but aside from that, all I could find were a lot of drugs."

"Then let's get out of here," said Mikhail, reloading as he spoke. "We don't want to be here when the police come to investigate.

**Meanwhile, Twelve Blocks Away**

**11:51 am**

Bentley and Julio had finished with their disguises, walking into the car dealership with Shuker's hidden explosive stash. They had needed to come up with a different plan, since Marty wouldn't be coming along, and they found one almost immediately.

The wolverine and turtle exchanged one last look, a nod, and then split up. Julio headed over to the only salesman around, a badger reading the newspaper. As he did so, he glanced at the headline and grimaced. There were two articles taking up the front page; one headline read **_Warehouse Explosion Outside Berlin! Many Casualties! McCoy Gang Suspected!_** Great. The police and newspapers had already linked the raid on Wilco's hub to them. They were getting faster. He had to give them more credit. The other headline was even worse. It screamed **_Interpol Officers Vanished Outside Berlin! Coincidence?_**

Gritting his teeth, Julio stepped up and said, in French, "Excuse, monsieur, I was at first curious about purchasing a car, but that newspaper has me interested. May I see it, please?"

The badger nodded, then went off to find his sales clipboard, which, presently, was being slipped into Julio's pocket by the wolverine himself. While Julio distracted him, Bentley would be breaking into the manager's office to find the explosive-filled safe. The manager was currently out on lunch break. Julio's eyes started skimming through the first story, and he did not like what he saw.

_Only a few days ago, an explosion was heard by a few patrolling officers outside of West Berlin, Germany. The officers rushed to find that a warehouse belonging to Wilco Shipping Inc. had been destroyed. Wilco and six other men have gone missing. "Undoubtedly," said Corporal Romulus Shultz, "This is the work of the McCoy Gang. They were sighted in West Berlin no less than two days ago, buying a boat. This is also their style. We've had suspicions that Wilco was shipping to gangs across Europe, but we never had any proof. The McCoy Gang always targets these sorts of people."_

Julio flicked his eyes to the other story, since the rest probably explained who the McCoy Gang were, blah, blah, blah.

The other story read _On the same night as the explosion outside of Berlin, two officers from Interpol, Inspector Carmelita Fox and Constable Sly Cooper, went missing, coincidentally, right outside Berlin. After some questioning, we found out that they were going on a raid to arrest Jack Wilco, Owner of Wilco Shipping Inc. and suspected smuggler and racketeer. It has been about two weeks, and not a word has been heard from either one. Interpol is offering a five thousand American dollar reward for any information of either officer's fate._

Julio put down the newspaper right then, pondering. With two 'missing' officers in tow, it would make getting around the world a hell of a lot harder. They'd need fake identities and such, but that wasn't the hassle; it was their appearance that would pose the problem.

As he stood there, lost in thought, Bentley wheeled over, a small bulge in the jacket over his chest. Tapping the wolverine on the shoulder, the turtle jerked his head in the direction of the door. Julio nodded and followed, tossing the badger's clipboard into a car as he passed it.

Back in the manager's office, however, a small beeping sound could be heard. Back in the safe, Bentley had armed and placed a small time bomb that Julio had given him, set to explode in 30 seconds.

Now 20.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5-

Suddenly the door opened, and the badger walked in, muttering about his clipboard. He walked around the desk, hearing the beeping too late, but seeing the bomb on time. His eyes widened as the timer clicked to 2, 1.

"Son of a-"

He never got it out.

The office exploded into a ball of fire, knocking two or three cars into the display windows, sending one more through the door. As it finished rolling, crumpled and smashed, it stopped next to two coats, a fake beard, and a detonator switch with two buttons.

**Meanwhile, Back at the Safe House**

**11:59 am**

Marty opened the door to find Inspector Fox sitting in an armchair in front of the TV, exactly how Sly had placed her. Her good hand was holding a remote as she flicked through the channels, a bored look on her face.

Sighing, he repositioned Caroline, who had been slowly slipping off for the past five minutes, back onto his shoulder, then used his foot to close the door behind him, since he was still carrying the shotgun, muttering "Honey, I'm home."

Carmelita didn't even look at him, saying "Yeah, yeah, whatever, thug."

Marty just rolled his eyes and made for the stairs into the lab, when Carmelita, looking over at him, asked "Shouldn't you be with the oth-"

The words died in her throat as she saw the canine on his shoulder and the shotgun in his hand. Her mouth fell open as she recognized said canine.

Slowly, she asked "Did you kidnap the chief's niece?"

Marty sighed and said "It's a long story. I'll tell you when I get back."

He then continued on his way downstairs. Carmelita sat back, pondering. What the hell was Marty doing with Lieutenant Newkirk? Was he working against two forces? What the hell was going on?

As she thought about the situation, Guru was watching her, doing some thinking of his own. Finally, he stood up and walked over, holding his walking staff loosely in his hand. Carmelita looked back towards the TV and started at the sight of the koala standing in front of her. As soon as she looked up, Guru had begun speaking, and Carmelita blinked, even more confused.

Finally, he seemed to have finished, and she said, hesitantly, "I-I can't understand you."

Sighing, Guru looked around, until his eyes fell on some bloodied bandages that Bentley had apparently missed. An idea struck him, and he leaned his staff against the TV, retrieved the bandages, and returned, holding them up for the Inspector to see. He pointed, first at himself, then at the bandages, then at his staff, and finally at her broken legs and arm, then ran in place for a few seconds.

The message was clear, and not lost on the vixen; _I can heal you fast._

Carmelita smiled and said, excited "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? And what the hell are you waiting for, work your magic!"


	11. Medic! Medic!

(A/N: Attention! I have a few announcements to make! First off, to answer Heid's question in the review, only two innocents died; the hyena cashier in the jewel shop and badger in the dealership. Everyone else worked for Shuker. Secondly, if you all will check out my profile, I have posted to sneak peeks there, as well as a date when they will be updated, up until this fic is finished. Now...on with the show!)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Paris, France**

**12:16 pm**

Sly pulled a key out of his pocket, still sullen about today's events. Murray was right behind him, staring into space. Both of their guns were empty, and neither had taken the time to reload. Neither really wanted to.

The key scraped in the lock as the door opened. Strange, but the safe house seemed to be empty, almost devoid of life. As Sly stepped through the door, his eyes watching for movement, something grabbed his shirt and pulled his to the side. Before he could do anything, a pair of lips suddenly pressed themselves to his own. The funny thing was, these lips seemed familiar…

"Carmelita!" he said, or would've said, if her mouth currently wasn't crushing his. Finally, she pulled back, allowing Sly to take a breath, which he did in the spectacular way of gasping before swallowing it down.

Carmelita had a crafty grin on her face as she laughed and said "C'mon Cooper, don't tell me you're already out of practice!"

Sly looked the vixen up and down, eyebrows raised so high they were in danger of disappearing into his hat. She was standing, she'd grabbed him with the left hand; it was as if she'd never broken those limbs.

"Wha- How?"

And then it clicked.

"Guru." He said, blinking.

As if it was a summon, the koala stepped out from behind Carmelita, smiling smugly.

Carmelita laughed again and said "I couldn't understand him at first. Then he got it through to me that he could heal me. Came at a price though; him me are both extremely exhausted. We're probably going to die just standing here, talking to you."

Sly grinned and shook his head in disbelief.

"So, how was the raid? Or should I say, job?"

Sly's grin slowly slid off his face as he looked away, muttering "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Goes double for me," said Murray, releasing the shotgun strapped to his back as well as the ammo belts, lowering them to the floor. "I need a drink," The hippo muttered, heading for the kitchen. Guru, looking extremely concerned, followed.

Carmelita instantly sobered up. She'd seen this before with new recruits after raids.

"You had to kill someone, huh?" she asked, softly.

Sly put his head against the window next to the door, which was still open.

Closing it with his leg, Sly sighed, then said "Six men. They were all like me. They were probably only doing it for money. Dammit, Carmelita, I've never even handled a gun before and I've already killed SIX MEN. How many more will I kill when I better learn how to use it?"

Carmelita placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, saying "I felt the same way when I killed my first lawbreaker. I wanted to quit the force immediately. It happens to everyone, Sly. Every person who handles a gun and uses it with lethal force will feel like just taking that gun, shoving under their jaw and pulling the trigger. Don't worry. You'll get over it."

Sly nodded, standing up straight again and looking the vixen in the eye. Sighing again, he smiled, weakly, and said "This day can't get any worse."

Carmelita immediately became uneasy. It was a full minute before she replied "Well, that depends on your opinion. You see, Marty came back about twenty minutes ago…"

**Meanwhile, Downstairs**

**12:21 pm**

Caroline's whole body ached as she came around. Except her head. For some reason, her head felt ok. She groaned slightly, and something wet pressed itself against her temple, gently dabbing the area around there, which was throbbing, dully. She opened her eyes slightly to find herself staring into a set of forest green ones, concern etched in them.

She had a hard time recognizing the eyes, but not the face framing them.

"You!" she snarled, lashing out at McCoy.

He leapt back, dropping the wet rag he had been sponging the bruise on her temple with, and took up a defensive position. Caroline leapt off the cot she'd been laying on, swinging a roundhouse kick. Before the blow could connect, however, McCoy had grabbed her leg, swung her up like a doll, and brought her back down into the cot.

Before she could react, however, he had leapt on top of her, pinning her down. Caroline struggled before she realized that something was sticking to her side. At that time, the pain hit her, and she stopped moving, grimacing. The only thing she could do without hurting herself was look at McCoy. He had taken off his jacket, and there were a few splotches of blood on his shirt, which was also soaked with sweat. It was only then that she noticed how hot the room was. Obviously, there was no air conditioner. She felt an eddy of hot air blow across her stomach, and she frowned, looking down briefly. She immediately turned red when she realized that her shirt had been unbuttoned, and now lay open. Although her bra was still undisturbed, she was very, very uncomfortable to have this much of her exposed, as well as having an unpredictable man on top of her this way.

Glaring back up at McCoy, she seethed and spit in his face, growling as she snarled "Bastard!"

McCoy didn't respond, just stared at her. Finally, he got off her and moved to pick up the rag again, so as to wipe his face of the spittle. Caroline tried to move her arms to close her shirt, intending to wait out the pain before attacking, when a stab of something that felt like a white hot poker lashed through her side, and she cried out, briefly. It was then that she noticed that most of her side was bandaged. Shifting slightly, she found that her back was also bandaged. What was going on?

Then HE spoke.

"You're lucky you didn't try to run. If you'd have fallen forwards, not only would you have gotten glass in your chest, but I'd have been forced to take that strap off your chest to get at it."

Oh, God, now he was pointing at her bra. She reddened, slightly, still glaring at him.

Finally, through clenched teeth, she snarled "And just what are you doing to me, you lying, murdering bastard?"

McCoy simply shrugged off the insult as he said "Well, gee, I dunno. You seemed to have several shards of glass in your side and back, and you seemed to be bleeding, so I just decided to save your live for kicks. Hope I didn't take any of the fun out of it for you."

She blinked, briefly, before coming to the conclusion that the blood on McCoy's shirt wasn't his own-although, God willing, she wished it was, since it would've meant he'd have gotten an injury-but HER blood. Then another thought hit her.

"Are you a doctor or something?"

She was actually more concerned for herself, for if he didn't know medicine…she'd rather not think about it.

McCoy chuckled, although there was nothing funny about the situation, and replied "Actually, that's what I was hoping to become. I went to college in Stalingrad, trying to get a degree, when I met Mikhail. Next thing you know, we're off looking for a sniper and we meet Julio in Lisbon. Then we're off bombing hubs and shooting those who're in charge. This vengeance trail sure has a lotta bumps and detours."

Caroline's eyebrows shot up as she heard this. McCoy must've seen the look on her face, because he chuckled again before continuing. Marty was desperate to keep this woman on her cot so that she not only wouldn't try to attack him, but also stopping her from opening her wounds again. He was starting to run out of bandages, silk thread for stitches, and disinfectant. So, he decided to tell the one story almost no one had heard; his past.

And so he began. "You might have heard of a Don Jonathon McCoy, ruling a part of Naples, Italy, right?"

When she nodded, he sat down in a chair next to the cot, which was his own (better not to get blood on Julio or Mikhail's cots) and continued.

"He was my father. Now, Julio has hacked into the Interpol files and found that his body was found in an alley next to a burning bakery, filled with lead. Since he was a gangster, the police didn't try too hard to figure out what happened, and eventually just marked him down as a drive-by victim. Only that's exactly the OPPOSITE of what happened. Both my mother and father were mercilessly killed by three heartless bastards; the Shuker brothers were the ones who pulled the triggers, but it was Don Taloreso who paid them to. He's the one I want. I grew up with my father's friend, Don Leo Cordasco. However, he couldn't take care of me. He'd never had any children, and he didn't know how the hell to take care of one. So, with many regrets, he sent me off to school in Russia. First, it was Moscow. My Junior High and High school grades in standard subjects there were all about average, but my foreign language grades soared. I learned fluent Russian, better English, broken French, German, and even Swahili. I even managed to skip a grade. All that time, I was in a secret bloodlust. I wanted the Shukers and Taloreso dead, all of 'em, and I didn't care how many men I had to go through to do it. After High school, however, I heard of how Taloreso had expanded his empire. The Shukers, both still working for him, had control of Paris and London; he had taken almost all of northern Italy, and also had control of various cities in different countries around Europe. Norway, Sweden, Greece, Spain, and God knows where else. He could get anyone in Europe dead like that."

At this, Marty snapped his fingers for emphasis.

"My dream of revenge seemed like just that; a dream. I couldn't face an army. So, I decided to go to college, try to build a good life. However, fate dealt me a hand that I couldn't put down; I met Mikhail after about two months. He and I both seemed interested enough in guns, and he seemed trustworthy, so I told him the story I'm telling you. And he joined with me. Now, my dream was starting to become a reality. We managed to torch one or two hubs before we realized we still needed two more crucial ingredients; a marksman and a demolitions expert. We looked all over Europe, until we finally came across both; we found Julio in Lisbon, Portugal. He was just a scrawny little kid then, living out on the streets; this was only about a year or so ago, and he was glad to join up. Finally, we took the fight to Taloreso. We severed his supply lines by taking out his rackets and control of cities all over Europe. We'd always keep moving so he'd never know what to expect, and every time we torched another hub, or freed another city, we'd cool our heels back in Naples for a week or two. Don Cordasco had managed to chase Taloreso out long before then, and that's when he took up residence in Venice, not long after Don Octavio was busted."

Caroline was listening in morbid fascination, awed, for some reason, by how Marty told her his story. There was just something captivating about the way he talked. His shirt was sticking to his chest, leaving very little to the imagination. Her eyes slowly went down his chest, and over his stomach, but she stopped herself there, before she went any further. _"_

_Oh my God,"_ she thought. _"Is that a six pack?"_

Marty looked down at her to find her staring at his stomach. He could tell what was going on in her head, and before he could stop himself, his own eyes were cruising down the Labrador's body, taking in her chest, stomach, legs…

He finally stopped himself and managed to regain his composure, shaking his hand in her face and saying "Hello? Anyone home?"

Caroline started, blinking, and reddened slightly, swatting his hand away and muttering "Yeah, whatever."

Marty rolled his eyes, leaned back against the chair and continued. "Anyway, we kept on blowing up hubs, taking down Taloreso's contacts, and freeing cities from his control. In a little under a year, we've managed to limit his empire to the Shuker brothers and northern Italy, as well as burn through about a ton of ammunition."

He chuckled once more, muttering "Now that I think about it, that pretty much busts our goal of victory in twelve-thousand bullets or less."

That got Caroline laughing, while Marty sat there, grinning and tipping his peasant's cap forward over his eyes.

Caroline liked his smile, so warm, inviting, yet she could tell it was almost unused, almost unnatural to him.

To Marty, Caroline's laugh sounded like someone flicking a crystal bell; clear and, slightly disturbing to him, attractive as well.

Finally, Caroline's laughter slowed, then stopped altogether. Marty pulled his peasant's cap back onto his head, looking back towards her brown eyes.

"Well, Marty, what now?"

She was supporting herself on her elbows, grimacing slightly at the pain. Marty frowned, got up, and grabbed a bottle of Tylenol from a duffel bag that served as the McCoy's medical bag. Or, rather, Marty's medical bag, since he knew the most about medicine. Grabbing a water bottle, the horse walked back over, tucking the water bottle under his arm while he opened the bottle of Tylenol, extracting two tablets, then closing it.

Sitting back down, he then handed the water to Caroline, then the tablets, placing the bottle next to the cot, saying "You have a watch, right?"

Caroline nodded, popping the painkillers into her mouth, then taking a swig from the water, swallowing it all down.

Marty got up and said "Make sure you take two of those every hour. It'll really help, believe me. I'm gonna go do damage control. No one's gonna like this, I bet you fifty bucks."

He turned towards the door, but before he could take a step towards it, it flew open, revealing the whole Cooper Gang, including Dimitri, who was supporting himself with a lab table. Julio and Mikhail were leading the procession, and everyone was frowning.

Marty swallowed, briefly, pinning his ears back along his skull, then looked back at Caroline, who was hastily buttoning up her shirt, and muttered "Where's my fifty?"


	12. OneMan Army vs Twelve Barrels

(A/N: Hello, peeps! Sorry if this chapter isn't as good as the others, I'm kinda sick and my mind isn't where its supposed to be. Well, at least its a chapter.)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Paris, France**

**12:36**

"You're joking."

Marty sat in the chair next to the cot, having just been told by a smug wolverine what his punishment for bringing Caroline back would be.

"I have to take down the weapons racket…by MYSELF?"

It was insane.

"Why can't you just blow the place sky high, like we planned?"

Bentley stepped in at this point, smirking and looking as equally smug as Julio.

"Well, as it turned out, there weren't as many explosives in the safe as we were counting on. We attached the concussion bomb Julio had to a bundle of dynamite, and all we managed was to blow up an office and send two or three cars flying. Not enough this time, though. Just about the entire construction on that building is stone. So, you're going to have to go in there."

"Yes, but ALONE?" Marty objected, pointedly. "That's suicide! The reason we came up with the explosives plan was because of the--I shouldn't have to remind you--half dozen shotgun packing bouncers. Whattya have to say to that?"

"Relax, comrade," said Mikhail, stepping forward. His face showed no emotion, but you could tell that inside, he was grinning ear to ear. The panther held up two items, and as soon as Marty saw them, his outlook on this job changed. In one hand, Mikhail held a Kevlar bulletproof vest. In the other, a satchel of grenades.

Mikhail saw the gleam in Marty's eye and said "Yes, beautiful, aren't they? We managed to get them from the gambling racket, hidden in a crate full of profits."

He then handed the horse both the vest and satchel, cracking a small smile. Marty looked at and held the two odd gifts like they were glass, ready to shatter any minute.

Another grin, making Caroline shift a little bit, lit his features, and he looked up, saying "You gotta deal! I'll come back with whatever weapons and ammo Shuker has locked up in there!"

It seemed as though his thoughts about this job had changed, slightly.

Bentley and Julio exchanged another smirk and then motioned for everyone to go out. Marty watched them all go, and saw that only Mikhail managed not to look smug.

As soon as they all left, he shut the door and muttered "Stupid bastards."

The look on his face, however, said something entirely different. He was grinning ear to ear, and Caroline's stomach was doing back flips, which was only made worse as Marty pulled off his shirt to put the bulletproof vest on. The poor canine's mind froze at the sight of his thickly muscled torso, from his knotted arms down to the six pack of his abs. This didn't last for long, as Marty wasted no time zipping up the Kevlar vest. However, it only made his look even stronger.

_"Very little to the imagination, what was I thinking?"_ wondered Caroline in awe. She finally found her tongue after several attempts.

"Just what do you DO?" she finally croaked.

"Hm?" said Marty, in the process of pulling on another muscle shirt, then his wool-lined leather jacket in order to hide the Kevlar.

Caroline rephrased the question. "I mean, do you work out or something?"

A look of comprehension dawned on the horse's face and he laughed, smiling again—blast him!—and replied "Yeah, sometimes. We got a training room back at McCoy Manor in Naples. The only thing I usually use is the weight machine though."

He didn't say anymore, but Caroline was dying to learn just how much he could bench.

Finally, Marty had his leather jacket on, hanging open, and she had to admit that it over the muscle shirt concealed the vest very well. Marty then walked over to a closet and opened it, rummaging around for something, sometimes leaning over and presenting Caroline with an irresistible view. She frantically shook her head. It would definantly be difficult to get rid of THAT image.

However, so was the next one, which revealed itself as soon as Marty stepped back, holding a Thompson in one hand and a shoulder bag full of ammo in the other. Inside the closet was a gun rack, holding who knows how many of the aforementioned firearms. Caroline's mouth hung open, and as Marty turned around, closing the door behind him, he saw the look on her face.

Realizing that she wasn't gawking at him for the first time, he looked back into the gun closet, chuckled, and said "Like what you see?"

He then opened the door wider so she could get a look. Before he could do much else, though, a nasally voice, strangely crackly, said "AHEM."

Both the equine's and canine's eyes flittered around the room at this, Marty's left hand taking hold of the handgrip below the barrel of his Tommy gun. Finally, both spotted, at almost exactly the same time, the video camera and loudspeaker next to it.

Marty shut the closet door with his foot, muttering "Goddamn turtle."

Turning towards the door, he grabbed the satchel of grenades on his way over, saying "I'll just be out for a few minutes, sweetheart. Just taking a stroll." He then winked at a very takenaback Caroline, stepped out, and closed the door behind him.

Caroline blinked a few times, then lay back down, feeling the bandages on her side and back pull slightly as the material of her shirt rubbed against them. She closed her eyes, suddenly very tired from the day's events.

However, before ten minutes had gone by, the door slowly opened again, and there stood Bentley and Julio. They both came in, Bentley shutting and locking the door behind him as Julio turned off the overhead light, then set a flashlight down on a trunk, positioning it so that when Caroline sat up the beam would be right in her face, then nodded to Bentley, who started typing into the computer in his wheelchair. At once, a siren filled the room, waking Caroline up and making his snap up straight. However, as soon as she did, her face was caught in the glare of the flashlight, and she threw a hand up to shield her eyes just as the siren stopped. There was silence for a few seconds as she tried to figure out who the two figures in front of her were.

Suddenly, there was the scrape of gun metal on leather, then the _click_ of a gun cocking and _clack clack clack_ of a revolver cylinder turning. Then a voice spoke. A nasally voice that she instantly recognized.

"Now, Lieutenant Newkirk, while Julio here has you covered, I'm going to ask you a few questions." Caroline could tell that she was going to be here a while.

**Meanwhile, Across Town**

**12:43 pm**

Marty loaded a magazine into the Tommy gun, pulling back the cocking pin on top. Strapped to his leg was his holster with the Desert Eagle sitting loosely in it. Straight ahead was the butcher shop that he was looking for.

Activating the Comm. link in his ear, he tested the radio link by saying "Bentley? Julio?"

**"They're busy right now Marty, sorry."** crackled a voice in his ear.

Marty frowned as he recognized Sly's voice.

"Busy doing what?"

**"They didn't tell us, but don't worry; before they left, they hacked the security cameras on the top and bottom floors and left me, Murray, Carmelita, Penelope, Guru, Mikhail and Dimitri here to watch you screw up-I mean go through the operation."**

In the background, Marty could hear snickers and whispered jokes. Rolling his eyes, he said "Alright, but if I die in there, I am NEVER speaking to you guys again."

There was a momentary silence while the recipients of the joke tried to figure it out, and Marty took that time to have his own, albeit very short, private celebration.

As soon as he was finished, however, he moved towards the butcher shop, cutting them off before they even started by saying "Alright, I'm going in."

**"Ten-four,"** responded Penelope, who had apparently wrested control of the radio away from Sly.

Marty looked up at the closed sign and grinned, taking a step or two back, then rushing forward and slamming his shoulder through the glass part of the door. He rolled to keep momentum, going past the owner, a warthog, and right into a frog, whom he flattened against the wall.

There was a moment of silence before guns went off, but Marty took it to glance at the frog, grimace, and say to the other three gunmen in the room, a duck, a beaver and a flamingo, "Oi! Somebody get the number of that bus that flattened him?"

That when guns drew and lead flew.

Marty held up the Tommy gun with one hand, pulling the trigger time and time again, sending bursts of half-dozen shots towards the gunmen before pulling a grenade out with his left hand, jerking out the safety pin with his teeth, and holding the handle for a few seconds before tossing it. This technique, used in war, is known as cooking a grenade, priming it to explode a few seconds or minutes earlier after being thrown. In this case, the effect was instantaneous.

Before the grenade hit the floor, it went off, killing the beaver, flamingo, and duck, as well as wounding the warthog. In such close proximity, the steel fragments of the grenade are hard to avoid. Marty did so, however, by knocking a table onto its side and ducking behind it. He heard said fragments drum into the table, and others into the wall behind him. Slowly, Marty raised his head above the edge of the table, gun at the ready.

But it was useless.

Everyone but the warthog, who was choking on a piece of steel caught under his collarbone, was dead. Or so he thought.

As he walked towards the warthog, intending to see what he could do for him, something rammed into him from behind. Marty realized that the frog was still alive, and was trying to get his hands around the horse's throat from behind. Marty simply ran backwards, into the wall, turned around when the frog released him, slammed a left hook into the amphibian's jaw to put him off balance, then grabbed his shirt with the same hand and put the barrel of the Tommy gun to the man's head and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered across the wall, and the frog slumped forward. Marty let go of his shirt, and the body crumpled forward, hitting the ground.

Turning back to the warthog, Marty quickly changed his mind about helping him when he saw the man's dead body, eyes wide open and hands at his neck. Sighing, the horse slung his gun over his shoulder stepping over to the warthog's body.

Gently, he closed the man's eyes, then removed the still warm hands from his neck, muttering "I don't know you, but you shouldn't have died this way. Rest in peace, friend."

Crossing himself momentarily, for his family had been Catholic, Marty then pulled the gun down from his shoulder, heading for the stairs, muttering into the Comm. link "First floor clear. One civilian fatality."

**"Roger,"** came the voice of Carmelita. What were they doing, taking turns at the microphone?

Rolling his eyes, the equine stepped up the stairs, approaching the door. Now would be the hard part seeing as how there would be six shotgun packing bouncers, all muscle-bound gorillas according to Bentley and Julio's observations.

As Marty reached the second floor, he was rounding the corner towards the door when a pipe swung at him out of nowhere. Before it connected, Marty had drawn a bead on its owner, a frog, and his finger was about to pull the trigger when the pipe made contact…with his groin. Marty's eyes went wide, and he jerked the trigger, sending a spray of lead into the frog's torso. However, the damage was done, and Marty was hunched over, feeling wave upon wave of nerve-wracking pain.

In his ear, there was a resounding **"Ooooooh,"** from all the males back at the safe house, and Marty's eyes flashed around, landing on the video camera in the corner of the hall.

**"That looked like it hurt,"** came Sly's voice, sounding like his face was screwed up.

**"You're telling me,"** came Murray's voice, sounding like his teeth were gritted, hard.

Dimitri however, was having the time of his life, howling with peals of laughter in the background.

**"Hah Hah! Now that's what I call a nut-cracker!" **

**"DIMITRI!"**

Came the yell from just about everyone standing there. Marty, however, was not focused on the argument about to take place.

Instead, his eyes were focused on the door that was swinging open, the black figure-eight eyes of gun barrels facing him, and the sound of six sawn off double-barreled shotguns being cocked.

Immediately, Marty threw himself back down the stairs as first one, then eight blasts ripped through the air, peppering the wall behind where he'd been. Recovering slightly from his injury, Marty managed to get back up before he went very far down the stairs, taking hold of his Tommy gun and pressing himself to the wall.

Quickly, another grenade appeared in his hand, and he once more pulled out the safety pin with his teeth, cooking the grenade for a few seconds before tossing it around the corner. He heard the explosive bounce off the wall with a metallic _clink!_ before it exploded, masking the cries of pain. Marty waited and, hearing no more gunshots, peered around the corner.

The grenade had exploded in mid air, right in the doorway. All six bouncers were dead, as well as the weapons dealer. Marty would've proceeded forward, had it not been for the fire from the propane tank on the mini barbeque that the bouncers had obviously been using to cook some steak or chicken, who knew. All Marty did know was that the flames were licking towards a box of ammo, stacked next to some other.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, eyes widening as the box caught up in flames, ready to ignite the ammo.

Quickly, he scrambled back downstairs and managed to leap out the door as the gunpowder in the ammunition ignited, blowing up the rest of the ammo, which exploded in a rush of heat and light, blowing the top of the butcher shop off and catching the bottom floor aflame. Marty sat up, breathing heavily, and looked back at the now burning shop.

Standing up, he slung his Tommy gun over his shoulder and said, into the Comm. Link "Well, good news is, I got the job done; bad news is, none of you had better sent your guns to relatives as gifts."

(Like I said, sorry if this chapter isn't as good as the others. The next will be better, I promise! Oh, and a reminder, don't forget to check my profile for sneak peeks! Oh, and review!)


	13. Warehouse Showdown

(A/N; Hey there! Once again, sorry if this chapter isn't as good as the others. I had to rush to get it done, since I've been busy at home)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Paris, France**

**4:46 pm**

Shuker glared, once again, at the beaver standing in front of him, this time sporting a still bleeding bullet wound in his shoulder, a look of disappointment on every inch of the rat's face. He'd just heard of Marty's interference and the failure of Caroline's assassination.

He slowly reached under the desk, then quickly pulled out his modified Uzi, sending a spray of lead in the beaver's direction. The man crumpled, falling backwards against the door. Shuker didn't even care, he just simply threw the gun onto his desk, then sat down and began pondering.

What was the McCoy Gang doing here? Last he'd heard, they'd blown up a warehouse in Germany. The boss wasn't going to be happy about this…

He was about to begin formulating a new plan when his second-in-command, a wide-eyed lemur named Francois,(pronounced Fran-swa, for those of you who don't know) came in slowly, holding a cell phone in one hand. It was obvious that he'd just gotten off the phone, and even more obvious that it was bad news, since the look on his face said he was absolutely dreading telling Shuker.

The rat looked up and, seeing the lemur, sighed and asked "What NOW, Francois?"

The lemur swallowed, then replied "Um, w-well, monsieur, um, it seems that-"

"Spit it OUT ALREADY!" Shuker snarled, making Francois jump a foot in the air, then yelping "All the rackets in Paris have been taken out, sir! Including the weapons dealer and the explosives cache, which were both destroyed!"

Shuker froze, a look of pain frozen on his face. That didn't last long, however, for he knew exactly who had done it, and why.

"McCoy's in town!" he hissed, leaping up, grabbing the Uzi, and running around collecting important things. "He's got to be looking for me! We need to get out of here, before-"

An explosion, plus several shouted voices and cries of pain, followed by gunfire, cut him off, coming from the compound outside the warehouse. Another explosion followed it, and Shuker swore again, grabbing a sawn-off and throwing it to Francois, shouting "I want them held off at all costs! No matter the sacrifice, no matter how much ammo you use, do it! I'm out of here, before McCoy can put a bullet in my skull!"

Francois nodded, turning and running out of the office, into the main room of the warehouse, while Shuker opened a door leading to the loading yard. Closing it, he rushed down the hall, only to hear more gunfire from behind him, in the room Francois had just run into.

McCoy worked fast.

The rat finally made it to the large door leading to the loading yard, taking the small one beside it and closing it behind him, shoving a large crate in front of it. He made it halfway to his car when the large door exploded, the force knocking him down to the ground. He managed to get up again, Uzi at the ready, when a magnum shot tore through the chaos, knocking it out of his hands. He was about to go for the snub-nosed revolver in his belt when he realized that he was already covered and froze.

A figure emerged from the flames that had come up in and outside of the warehouse. As it came into view, Shuker reeled back as if physically slapped. The figure was a tall, muscle bound horse with orange fur, wearing faded, worn out jeans, a wool-lined leather jacket over a muscle shirt, steel toed work boots, and a brown peasant's cap. His mane, which had obviously been cut down to a shorter size, was standing up, stiff, like a Mohawk. In the horse's hand was a Desert Eagle. In the other was a gun he recognized; Don McCoy's Tommy gun, held by the area between the magazine and the front handgrip.

Shuker's eyes were wide, since he was apparently faced with the ghost of Don McCoy himself.

Or so it seemed.

Then, the horse stopped and spoke, and his accent definantly wasn't Scottish.

"Hanz Shuker. It's been a long time. Eight years I believe."

Shuker stammered, spluttering "I d-don't even remember us m-meeting. I b-believe you may have the wrong man. P-perhaps you are looking for my brother?"

This man didn't seem like a cop, and Shuker's confidence was steadily starting to rise again. That is, until he heard the horse's next words. Then, it dropped like a stone.

"Oh, we never met. But you and my parents sure did."

Shuker was right on the verge of panicking, and that only increased as the horse cocked the magnum handgun in his hand, pointing it right at the rat's head.

"Now listen up, bastard; I'm going to give you more of a chance than you gave my parents."

Throwing aside the Tommy gun, McCoy eased the Desert Eagle off-cock, and then holstered the pistol. His next words put more fear into Shuker than he'd ever heard in his life;

"Draw, you goddamn son of a bitch."

**3 hour, 45 minutes before**

**Across Town**

Marty stepped into the safe house, covered in sweat and dust from his recent job. The rest of the gang, minus Julio and Bentley were all going about their business. Penelope was typing on a computer, Guru and Murray were in the kitchen, with Murray fixing a sandwich the size of the koala next to him, Dimitri and Mikhail were sitting on the couch, watching Notre Dame play some Irish football team, Mikhail looking extremely bored, as usual, and Sly and Carmelita were…Marty grimaced inwardly as he caught a glimpse of them through a crack in the door to the bedroom. Let's just leave it at that.

Marty quickly shook his head in an attempt to dispel the image, heading for the stairs to the lab and McCoy Gang quarters. As his hand touched the doorknob, however, he received a shock as he heard Caroline's voice, but even more surprised when he heard Bentley and Julio talking to her. He pressed his ear against the door, quietly, to hear what they were saying, and managed to catch a snatch of the conversation.

"And boys, let me tell you, the service on that ship is to die for! The food was fantastic, the crew all polite, and the view was even more beautiful than I had imagined! Barcelona from the sea…Ooooh, it was so breathtaking."

Marty rolled his eyes, standing up. He knew what these two were up to; it was an interrogation gone off track. Silently, he pulled out his key and even more silently, slid it into the lock.

Caroline had to say that Bentley and Julio could both put on the tough act. They had played good cop, bad cop, with Bentley as the good cop, asking her the reasonable questions, and Julio as the bad cop, snarling his suspicions and shaking the gun barrel whenever he didn't like what she said. The questions had started out simple and reasonable enough;

"What's your age?"

"Twenty-one. My birthday will be coming up in about two months or so."

"What kind of car do you drive?"

"A beat up old jeep. It's parked not too far away. Why?"

"We're going to move it out of sight so we can get suspicions off of us, and so you can have a ride outta here."

Eventually, however, one question popped up that was not only confusing, it also scared the hell out of her.

"Where are you going to go after this?"

Caroline looked to Bentley, a curious look on her face. Julio had long ago turned the overhead lights back on, holstered his gun, and put the flashlight away, but he still stood there, glancing at her suspiciously.

"Home, I suppose. Why?" Caroline answered the turtle's question, wondering where he was going with this.

Bentley frowned and said "I'm afraid I can't let you do that. It would be too much for my conscious. Probably give me an ulcer too." He tapped his shell over his stomach area before continuing. "Hanz Shuker wasn't the one who issued the hit on you. He was only following orders. The real person behind the hit is Don Taloreso. We hacked Shuker's e-mail and found the message."

Caroline blinked, surprised. Then, becoming very confused, she said "Well, I should be safe with uncle. I mean, he has command of the Interpol forces in all of Europe."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, however, she remembered something Marty had said. It played in her mind like a tape recorder doing a playback of an interrogation; _He can get anyone in Europe dead like that._ She could almost see his fingers snapping. She wouldn't be safe, no matter where she went, no matter who guarded her. The Interpol force was only so many people, and Don Taloreso could hire any mercenary team in the world he wanted.

Bentley, about to respond to her question, noticed that a look of fear and desperation had appeared in her eyes, and realized that she had suddenly understood.

The interrogation broke off from there. Instead, they simply talked about, well, everything.

Adventures, friends, books, music, everything.

She even struck up a conversation with Julio about firearms, which got him into the conversation again. Currently, she was telling them about a police ball she had attended on a cruise liner, just outside of a Spanish city. Or at least, she was, until she saw the door swing open silently on well oiled hinges. Framed in the doorway, a small smile on his face, was Marty. Bentley and Julio hadn't seen him yet, and the horse held a finger to his lips, pointing to the turtle and the wolverine.

Caroline instantly caught on and had to struggle not to smile. She then said, sounding as serious as she could fake, "You know, I'm not so sure about the security about this so-called 'safe house.'"

Bentley looked shocked at this. "Oh really? And just WHY do you think that, hmmm?"

"Cause someone could do this." said the horse from the doorway. Julio and Bentley spun around, the wolverine going for his gun. However, upon seeing his friend standing there, he blinked, then dropped his hand, saying "I never would've expected this of YOU, Marty. The only person I'd less expect than you would be Mikhail."

Marty waved off Julio's words, saying, "C'mon, everyone out. We gotta plan an assault, remember?"

Brushing past the wolverine and turtle to help a slightly surprised Caroline up, saying "Since you'll be staying with us for a while, I think it's only fair that we let you in on what we're doing."

"Says who?" asked Julio and Bentley at the same time.

Marty turned around, a hand on Caroline's shoulder to keep her steady, a look of fury on his face that shut up both objectors. There was silence until Caroline, who was now standing, assumed role of peacekeeper by saying "Why don't we just get moving, alright?"

There was another brief second of silence, and Caroline could tell that sparks would fly between the furry and scaly sacks of brains and dynamite and the hot blooded (_"Not to mention ­altogether hot"_ said a voice in the back of Caroline's head) stallion over her staying, which still confused the canine herself. Why was Marty so eager to help her to the point that he would let her travel with his gang?

**Paris, France**

**Old Warehouse District**

**4:39 pm**

A shadowy figure dashed across a rooftop, with another not-as-shadowy figure following. Down on the building's fire escape, a third figure that was right in between shadow levels hurried from platform to platform with cat-like agility.

Down on the streets, two other large figures starting shouldering their way through the late crowd, made up of mostly punks coming from a warehouse concert that just got out.

Out in an alley, one more figure in a wheelchair was frantically wheeling himself along, followed by another carrying a long rifle.

About two blocks away, a blue van with a raccoon face and hot rod flames sat in front of a Chinese laundry, whose owner was now opening the back door and jingling some recently acquired, albeit fake, coins he had just received for leaving the back door open.

Inside the van, Penelope was typing away on one of Bentley's computers while Caroline, who had been grudgingly allowed to come, was setting up COMM link radio connections. However, before they'd left, Julio had slipped Penelope a short baseball bat while no one was looking, with the whispered words of "If she tries anything funny, knock her out. If she runs, shoot her in the back."

The mouse was now eyeing the canine with obvious nervousness, her foot connecting with the bat under the desk every time she moved. To take her mind off the metal club, she tasked herself with typing and viewing the blueprints. She could feel the weight of her .45 in its holster on her hip, an ominous sign of things to come.

Finally, she heard in her ear the usual crackle of the COMM link, then Caroline's voice saying "Hello? Testing, this is Home Base, respond." Penelope stole a glance over at the Labrador, who was currently fitting a COMM link earpiece into her own ear, having just used the radio microphone to broadcast the test call. After a few seconds, there came the responses.

**"This is Ghost Recon to Home Base, with Shadow, Star, and Grim Reaper present and heading into position, over." **

**"Yeah, this is Armor Squad to Home Base with Mohawk and Tank here and already in position, over." **

**"This is Bonzai Squad to Home Base; Wizard and Long Range present and in position, over." **

**"Christ, why do we have to use these stupid code names anyway? I mean, c'mon, _Bonzai_ Squad? You've gotta be kidding me."** Marty's voice filled both the mouse and canine's ears and Penelope heard an audible sigh come from the turtle on one end of the web of connections.

**"Well, Mohawk, have you ever considered that this transmission could be intercepted? By either the police _or_ Shuker?"**

A brief silence followed this. **"No."** came the curt, short response.

**"Well, now you have our reason. OK, every one in position?"**

There came the crackle of transmitted affirmations, then Marty's voice saying **"Alright, let's do this, then get outta here."**

Currently, Marty was standing across the street from Shuker's compound with Murray. There were three warehouses, and the one at the back was Shuker's main office. Boxes, undoubtedly of guns and ammo, were stacked in the compound, which was surrounded by chain link fencing and guarded at every entrance by gunmen. Pulling off the knee-length overcoats they wore, he and Murray both pulled out their guns and loaded them, preparing for the siege. All they had to do was wait for the signal…

Which came in the form of two gunmen falling over at the entrance right in front of them, one after the other. This did not go unnoticed by the other guards, who immediately began scrambling for cover. Marty was about to dash forward with Murray when something stopped him in his tracks, his hand on the hippo's arm to stop him. What stopped him came in the form of a long, black tube emerging from a crate, held by a duck and being loaded by a frog.

"GET DOWN! BAZOOKA!" he yelled into the COMM link, pulling Murray down a second before, with a loud _fwoosh_ of escaping pressurized air, a rocket zoomed over their heads, streaking down the alley behind them and exploding against a building, making a hole. Marty had swung up the Tommy gun as he went down, and starting peppering the compound with bullets. A few of them hit the bazooka men just as another round was fired straight at the main gate. As you know, chain link is pretty weak, and can only stand so much. A rocket is not one of them. The explosive projectile tore through the metal links and exploded against a car in the street.

"NOW!" Marty yelled, scrambling to his feet and rushing forward, Tommy gun blazing.

Everyone burst from their hiding places, firing into the mass of gunmen that stood in the compound. As they all took cover behind crates, Marty began counting how many they had to face. He finally came up with somewhere over two dozen. Not very good odds. Keeping behind a row of crates, he crept along the wall until he managed to make it to the door. Two ducks were standing there, firing machine guns. Leaping out, Marty pulled the trigger time and time again, knocking them both back.

Looking back at the chaos, he yelled into the COMM link "Clear out the compound and the two warehouses! Shuker's mine!"

Okay, so this wasn't exactly the plan, but it would have to do.

Knocking down the door, Marty rushed down the hallway, throwing open another door to surprisingly find himself faced with an equally surprised lemur, holding a sawn-off. The Frenchman, panicking, swung up the barrel of the gun. Marty never gave him a chance, though. He pulled the trigger, knocking the wide-eyed man aside with a burst of lead, and rushing through another door. He looked around the office briefly, then hurried for a door in the back.

Kicking it open, he found himself in a bloodlust. He was close, so close. He could see the bodies of his parents, both lying in pools of blood, and he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He was ready to kill without mercy.

That's when he came to the two doors, one large, one small. He tried the small door and, upon finding it blocked, looked around frantically for something else, something that would be his key through. He found it alright, in the form of a bundle of dynamite sitting on a crate. He grabbed it desperately, lighting it with a cigarette lighter Julio had given him for the job, throwing the explosives blindly at the large door. It exploded beautifully, made all the more so by the barrels of gasoline on either side. Marty got up, smiling devilishly, and could just barely see Shuker pulling out his Uzi through the smoke. Marty simply drew his pistol and fired without even aiming, sending the rat's gun reeling. All was deadly quiet, save for the gunfire in the background. Marty could taste blood, but whether real or just his bloodlust working up, he didn't know, didn't care. His eyes narrowed as he stepped through the smoke towards the rat, who took a step or two backwards. Marty knew how much like his father he looked like to make Shuker panic. All the more in his favor.

_"Let's have a little fun first,"_ said a voice in the back of his head, and he was only glad to comply.

"Hanz Shuker. It's been a long time. Eight years I believe."

Shuker stammered, spluttering "I d-don't even remember us m-meeting. I b-believe you may have the wrong man. P-perhaps you are looking for my brother?"

Marty grinned inwardly. Yep, this guy was scared as shit. Time to jack it up some.

"Oh, we never met. But you and my parents sure did."

Marty finally came up with a conclusion on how to end this. He was going to make sure that this rat knew that he'd made the mistake of a lifetime when he joined up with Don Taloreso.

"Now listen up, bastard; I'm going to give you more of a chance than you gave my parents."

Throwing aside the Tommy gun, Marty eased the Desert Eagle off-cock, and then holstered the pistol. His eyes narrowed even more as his hand hovered near the pistol grip, his mouth set in a firm line after he issued the challenge;

"Draw, you goddamn son of a bitch."

Shuker shook his head wildly, saying "_Nein_, no, you're insane!"

"I said draw, dammit!" Marty snarled, his hand hovering closer to his pistol. "Draw, or else I'll gun you down in cold-blood, and that's a promise! One way or another, you're going to die, and it doesn;t really matter to me how."

Shuker, in fear and resignation, jerkily grabbed and drew the revolver from his belt. Marty waited until the gun had slid out of the rat's waistline before he acted. His hand flashed down, his fingers wrapped around the handle, and the gun barrel slid out of the holster and up. Shuker knew he was dead before Marty's hand had touched the gun.

A single shot echoed through the yard, the rat's head jerked backwards in a spray of crimson, and he fell over, his unfired revolver still in his hand.

**The Thievius Raccoonus**

**Entry Number 2,957**

**Penned by Sly Cooper**

After Marty left to go hunt down Shuker, things pretty much went to hell. The resistance we encountered was much heavier than any of us expected, and mercenaries kept pouring out of the warehouses. Eventually, however, Murray got the sense to use our newly acquired rocket launcher, bringing down the roofs of both of the other warehouses. However, there was only one rocket left, and we were still outnumbered. Things looked grim; until Marty came back out that is.

He fired off two blasts from a sawn-off to get the goons attention, then we caught them all in a crossfire as Carmelita picked up a machine gun and moved around to another side. Soon, what was left of Shuker's force that wasn't dead yet gave up, and we just knocked them out, tied them up and left them for the cops.

After that, we left. Just that simple.

The back door to the Chinese laundry was only a precaution in case Interpol showed up, which they did, but we didn't hear the sirens until we were about two blocks away. They really need to work on their timing. When we got back to the van, we dropped off Dimitri at his nightclub so he could recover. No worries, though. Bentley says that by the time we get ready for the Mexico job, he should be ready to rejoin the team.

We're now headed to London, hopefully with a plan this time, instead of doing it, the way Bentley calls it, the 'Redneck Way.' Well, you never know Bent; some rednecks can sometimes be smart.

We're bringing Caroline with us. Why, though, I have no idea. I've heard that Don Taloreso had issued the hit on her, but she'll be safe with Interpol, right? What's going on between her and Marty?


	14. Everybody Dance Now!

(A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while everyone! Well, this time I decided to go for something I haven't done before, and put a song in. It's Rock This Party by Bob Sinclar (YES that's how you spell it!) I'll try and write more often in the future! Again, sorry to keep you waiting!)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**London, England**

**8:49 pm**

**2 days after Paris job**

The city of London appeared to be built out of gold, thanks to the lights as darkness fell. There was a certain subject of importance that was wafting through the British nobility, criminal and legal. The party was being held up in the penthouse suite of a hotel named _The Golden Swan_, and anyone of importance in London, whether political or industrial, was there.

Lars Shuker, sitting behind a podium on a small stage, looked over the large room, which held over some forty people. Classical music played softly from the speakers in all four corners of the room, and wine, brandy, and other fine alcoholic drinks were lined down one table, while food and regular drinks sat on another, on the other side of the room. Shuker smiled to himself, stroking the moustache and beard he sported. His brother had never wanted to grow any facial hair, content to simply stick with tattoos.

_'And now look where he is' _said a small voice in the back of his head. Facial hair, in Lars' opinion, always did seem to make a man seem more innocent.

Suddenly, the rat sat up straighter and rubbed his wrists, feeling the .30 caliber revolvers hidden in his sleeves. The newly appointed Chief of Police, Bernard Price, a middle-aged ram, was being pulled aside by one of his men, as well as a 20 pound note exchanging hands. The ram listened to the mobster, then nodded, and both started over towards where Shuker was sitting. The rat allowed himself a quick smile to himself, then stood up, a neutral expression on his face. The mobster escorted Price over to the stage, then excused himself and disappeared in the crowd.

Shuker offered his hand, which Price shook, and said "Chief Price, it is an honor to have you at my-" The rat gestured to the room. "Small event. I have an offer that I wish you to hear. If you will please come this way."

He indicated a small door behind the curtain at the back of the stage, and Price nodded, thinking _'Christmas bonus, here I come.'_

While this was happening, a certain turtle in a wheelchair, two floors down, was typing rapidly on a laptop, with a certain mouse looking over his shoulder. Bentley opened the transmission network, then said **"This is Wizard, testing connections. Report." **

**"This is Mohawk, I'm moving into position, over." **

**"This is Shadow, I'm almost done with the wires." **

**"This is Long Range, feeling ready to throw up at this music."**

The last transmission came from a wolverine in the penthouse, in the audio control room. It was all he could do not to change the music. _'_

_I HATE classical'_ he thought to himself, grimacing as he changed to another classical CD.

**"Focus, Long Range. You got the CD in your pocket?"**

Julio grinned, briefly placing a hand over the round shape in his pocket.

"You bet I do!" he said, trying to keep his voice down.

**"Excellent. Where's everyone else?" **

**"This is Tank, the 'catapult' is ready to go." **

**"This is Star One, our 'friends' are taken care of." **

**"This is Grim Reaper, I have our distraction loaded and ready to go." **

And finally, **"This is Star Two, no new info found, repeat, no new info. Looks like this job goes down either one of the paths you boys predicted."**

Bentley grinned. It was about time a job worked out the way it was supposed to.

Back on the penthouse floor, a horse in a white tuxedo jacket, black slacks and shined ebony shoes pushed a food cart down the hallway. The double doors into the penthouse were guarding by only one person, a wolf in a black suit with tinted glasses and a radio wire coiling out of his ear and down towards his pocket. A bulge from under his left shoulder suggested that this man was obviously not hotel security.

Marty nodded toward the cart he was pushing, and the wolf returned the nod, stepping forward to begin his search. Before he could, however, Marty had pulled a stack of hundred pound notes from inside his tuxedo. Lifting up the dish cover on top, he exposed the black tuxedo jacket concealed underneath, then pulled back the lapel of the jacket he was wearing to expose his own shoulder holster, which was empty. The wolf eyed the holster, then nodded again, taking the stack of bills and opening the door as soon as Marty had replaced his jacket lapel and the dish cover. The equine winked and walked through the door, smiling to himself.

As soon as the door shut behind him, he muttered "This is Mohawk, the Horse is in."

He wasn't only talking about himself, but also about the cart. No one seemed to be paying him any attention, so Marty quickly pulled the cart to the wine table and ducked underneath, grabbing the black jacket. Quickly, he shed his white jacket, then unfolded the black, exposing the Desert Eagle, as well as the two clips with it. Sliding the pistol into his holster, he slid the clips into the back of his waistband, then pulled on his black jacket. Poking a hand out, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the table, then pulled the hand back, pulling out the cork with his teeth. Taking a few swigs of the drink, he poured a bit more onto the white jacket, then messed up his clothes a little bit, splashing a drip or two of the alcoholic drink onto his white shirt under the jacket. He then took on a bewildered expression, crawling out from under the table and standing up, teetering, still holding the bottle. This way, it would seem as though he was simply a guard who had snuck away a little too much drink. Once he appeared to have gotten his bearings, he leaned against the table, looked at the bottle in his hands, and took on a crestfallen expression, shaking his head as though disappointed with himself, placing the almost empty bottle on the table.

**"Okay, Mohawk, enough with being tipsy. Shuker's finishing up his meeting with Chief Price. A little bit sooner than expected, but it looks like we've got no choice. Open the Horse."**

Marty nodded automatically before forgetting that Bentley couldn't see him. He turned back to the cart. He would have to work quickly. Even now, Julio was loading in the new CD. Almost all the songs on there would seem to be regular Classical, except for the last one, which would be the signal.

Marty quickly grabbed a detonator and a set of night vision goggles disguised as sunglasses from under another dish cover, then concealed the former in his jacket, meanwhile poking two fingers under his shirt to make sure that the Kevlar vest underneath was tight on his body. Then he turned around, slipping on the glasses. He couldn't see very well, since it wasn't dark at all. All he COULD see was a field of green. No shapes, nothing. But he could still hear. He could hear the music changing. Instead of pianos and flutes, he heard the strumming of a guitar and the bouncing of a keyboard.

Now!

He quickly pressed the button on the detonator. Ten feet up, hidden in the chandelier, a plastic explosive activated. In all the other lights, other explosives came online. Marty didn't waste any time, and mashed down the second button, just as the song started. Above the explosions as the lights all blew out, panicked screams, and a sworn oath from Shuker, you could hear the words of Bob Sinclar.

_Me seh me waan see everybody on move  
Dancehall ino  
Dollarman coming at ya  
We just waan big up Cutee B  
Bob Sinclar  
It's a dance thing, yuh see me  
It's the way just bounce  
Yeah  
Everybody dance now!_

_Let's go!  
Whoo!  
Let's go!  
Rock, rock, say what, rock  
Let's go!  
Everybody dance now!_

Marty could see Shuker, thanks to the night vision glasses, and he snarled, rushing forward, drawing his gun. Unfortunately, he wasn't used to the glasses, and his aim was off. His first shot went wide, and his second planted into the doorframe about a foot from Shuker's left arm. The rat ducked back into the room he had just come out of.

"Dammit!" growled Marty, dashing forward.

_Rock this party  
Dance everybody  
Make it hot in this party  
Don't stop, move your body  
Rock this party  
Dance everybody  
Make it hot in this party  
Everybody dance now!_

The music wasn't really necessary, but Marty had wanted to slap Shuker in the face before he took him down. It would be a double blow; ruining something Shuker had most probably spent months preparing and then killing him. His security wouldn't be coming to help him, since Carmelita had already dispatched them all during a shift change. All except the wolf, who was now walking away from the doors, smiling and thumbing through the stack of bills, which, unbeknownst to him, were all counterfeit. They had contacted him a few weeks earlier with an offer, and he'd accepted.

As Marty dashed through the door, he caught a brief glimpse of Shuker scampering into an elevator, flicking his wrists as he did so. Catching the gleam of gunmetal, since the lights in this room were still on, but dimmer than they had been, Marty rolled to the right as two shots cut through the music.

_Don't know what's on your mind  
Yuh come fi have a good time  
Me waan yuh wine your waistline  
Me waan yuh shake your behind  
I'm in a dancing mood  
Gyal and I'm feeling good  
This is my favorite tune  
Put on your dancing shoes  
Gonna mek yuh feel so good tonight gyal  
Me gonna mek yuh feel alright_

Marty pried open the elevator doors, looking down the shaft. Seeing the elevator only going down one floor, Marty fired two more shots, then let himself fall onto the top of it as it came to a halt. Opening the service hatch, he dodged two more shots, then let himself fall through, prying the doors open again and slipping through. He was in a dark bar, which looked like it had been unused for a while. He could also see Shuker dashing to a balcony that went around the entire room higher up. He quickly ducked under a table, using it for cover as four more shots came at him, buzzing past like angry wasps. He could still hear the music from the floor up.

_I came to rock at this party  
Cause I can make you feel alright  
Sweet boy, you're rocking your body  
I'll get you straight to the night  
Oh oh, you want this body  
Oh oh, you want it now  
Sweet boy, you're rocking your body  
Cause I'm gon make you mine tonight _

Du du du du  
Let's go  
Du du du du  
Whoo  
Du du du du  
Let's go  
Du du du du du du du  
Du du du du Dance! Dance!  
Du du du du Now everybody move! (move)  
Du du du du Now everybody shake! (shake)  
Du du du du Now everybody  
Everybody dance now!

Marty slid out from under the table, firing shot after shot up at the rat on the balcony. He had the advantage of being able to see the rat without searching for his muzzle flashes, but Shuker could get better cover. The horse grinned as he heard the distinctive clicks of two empty revolvers. Shuker probably didn't have many rounds on him. Marty's own gun was empty, but he simply ejected the empty clip, shoving in a new one and making for the stairs. It would take the rat a bit of time to reload.

_Hangin inna di dance na  
Gyal waan test yuh  
Don't stand a chance  
Gotta look better than then  
It's just nice and than then  
Hold me tight gyal, hold me tight (what)  
Wipe me off! (let's go)  
Just dry me off!_

He could still hear the music coming through the ceiling. It seemed as though Julio had intentionally turned up the volume. An explosion sounded from outside, way down at the base of the hotel. That would be Mikhail with the bazooka from Paris, blowing apart a few cars to form a barrier to block the police. Everyone would now undoubtedly be heading for the 'catapult' as it was called on this job. It was actually the Cooper team van, ready to go about two blocks away. They had passage on a freighter in Southend that would be leaving in about four hours.

Leaning around the doorway at the top of the staircase, Marty looked down the balcony, immediately spotting Shuker, who was kneeling behind a table that had been kicked on its side, frantically stuffing cartridges into one revolver. The other had been thrown away empty, undoubtedly jammed. Marty grinned and, now used to the glasses, aimed carefully and fired another shot, splintering the edge of the table and chuckling as Shuker jumped. Keeping his pistol up, Marty sidestepped out, gripping the handle with is other hand.

_I came to rock at this party  
Cause I can make you feel alright  
Sweet boy, you're rocking your body  
I'll get you straight to the night  
Oh oh, you want this body  
Oh oh, you want it now  
Sweet boy, you're rocking your body  
Cause I'm gon make you mine tonight_

_Du du du du  
Let's go_  
_Du du du du  
Whoo  
Du du du du  
Let's go  
Du du du du du du du  
Du du du du Dance! Dance!  
Du du du du Now everybody move (move)  
Du du du du Now everybody shake (shake)  
Du du du du Now everybody  
Everybody dance now!_

_Rock this party  
Dance everybody  
Make it hot in this party  
Don't stop, move your body  
Rock this party  
Dance everybody  
Make it hot in this party  
Everybody dance now!_

"C'mon out now Shuker." Marty voiced his challenge.

Shuker slowly came up above the table, keeping his revolver between two fingers and his hands shoulder high.

The rat peered through the darkness briefly, then said "So, you're Marty McCoy, hmm?"

Marty saw no harm in answering.

"Yeah, so?"

He instantly saw his mistake. The rat knew his position now.

In a flash, Shuker had flipped his hand, rolling the revolver into it and taking aim. Leaping backwards, Marty fired three shots. One went wide, but the other two smashed into the rat's chest, making his shot go wild. Marty heard and felt it fly past his ear. A fraction of an inch to the right and he would've been able to wear an earring.

He hit the floor and rolled up, pistol at the ready, but lowered it when he saw that Shuker was dead. Sliding the gun back into his holster and heading for the door, Marty plotted out the escape route in his mind. He'd head out to the van, and they'd all get out of here. The song finished playing one floor up.

_Shhhh gyal wine and flex (yeah)  
Shhhh tell dem seh a yuh a dï best (yeah)  
Yuh look better gyal  
Yuh look better  
Show dem your move gyal !  
Show dem your move!_

_I came to rock at this party  
Cause I can make you feel alright  
Sweet boy, you're rocking your body  
I'll get you straight to the night  
Oh oh, you want this body  
Oh oh, you want it now  
Sweet boy, you're rocking your body  
Cause I'm gon make you mine tonight_

(Don't forget to keep checking my profile!)


	15. Tampico, We Have a Problem

(A/N: Yo! Sorry I haven't updated in a while! here's the next part though!)

**S****ly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Tampico, Mexico**

**20 miles offshore**

**3:17 am**

**1 week after the London job**

A light gleamed through the foggy gloom of the Mexican waters, then quickly went out. Many more times it did this, alerting any other ships nearby of its presence. A foghorn blew, startling a few seagulls off a buoy and into the dawn sky. On deck of the ship in question, two smaller lights tried helplessly to poke through the humid atmosphere, smoke trailing from both.

Mikhail finished his cigarette and flicked the butte into the foamy waters, then turned to go back inside while Dimitri, also finished with his cigarette, simply pulled out and lit another one and continued smoking. The panther sighed, tasting the nicotine and tobacco coating his throat and lungs. He really should get off the stuff. They weren't called 'death sticks' for nothing.

Down in the cargo hold, Julio, Bentley and Penelope were all typing on laptops, hooked up to a wireless connector that was connected, illegally of course, to a military network provider, allowing them around the world Internet. The military, of course, had yet to find out about this, but it worked for now.

Julio was currently searching through land deeds and profit records of various businesses in Mexico City, and wasn't surprised to find that they gave no clue whatsoever to what businesses Muggshot owned. He probably had bought them all under different names. Possibly the names of a few men that worked for him. After stumbling on this thought, he'd run it by Bentley and Penelope, who were currently searching the Mexican Interpol's records, running by all the names that were on the land deeds. They had yet to see the results of the search.

Half a dozen feet away, Marty was cleaning his Tommy gun for the fourteenth time. Caroline counted it when he'd put the submachine gun down, waited a few minutes, then picked up the dirty rag he'd been using and go at it again. She sat next to him, leaning against the wall--no, bulkhead, she reminded herself. Stupid ship terms--and watching him, getting conversation out of him from time to time. A Webley semi-automatic top loading revolver sat in her lap, unloaded of course. That was part of their agreement; Marty and Julio's, not hers. No ammo until the shots started to fly.

As Marty finished up, he finally simply packed away the Tommy gun, then sat in an uncomfortable silence. Finally, after about five minutes, he turned to another gun case, this one for handguns, and extracted two customized firearms; twin semi-automatic .50 caliber Beretta handguns, each with twelve shot magazines. Marty had adjusted the triggers to such sensitivity that such touching them would set them off. The guns had been packed away for quite some time, since Marty had gotten shot in the left hand once and hadn't ever really thought of taking the guns back out again, and the grease on the pistols had attracted so much dust and grime that the slides made a scraping noise every time they moved.

Taking the pistols apart, he began cleaning again. Cleaning a gun was sort of a Zen thing to Marty. After about twenty minutes of work on the first pistol, a Texan voice over the loudspeaker announced **"Attention, all those of you below decks who want to get off, we're about five minutes away from the dock. Once there, you ankle biters had better get ready to roll, since it'll only take two or three minutes to dock and I want to get all that ammo you have out of here!"**

Down in one of the cabins, Sly grinned and declared "He's just mad that we didn't tell him what the cargo was."

They were, indeed, illegally transporting all this ammunition, and the captain of the ship, an irritable, middle aged Blue tick hound, had objected very strongly when the first crate was opened in front of him, but a couple hundred American dollars, real this time, persuaded him otherwise.

Sly stood and stretched, reaching for his shirt, which had been tossed onto the floor. As he pulled the garment over his head and reached for his pants and shoes next, he looked to Carmelita, who was still asleep. He gently shook her awake, saying "Wake up, Spanish Eyes, we're docking soon."

Carmelita opened one hazel eye halfway, then closed it, saying "Five more minutes…"

Sly chuckled and said "That's when we're docking."

He got a swat in the face for his troubles.

Up in the wheelhouse, Captain Rex Cannings watched the shoreline. He never liked old Mexico, never liked New Mexico either, come to think of it, but all of this money for just one trip overseas was too much to put down.

The radio on the map table, where a seagull was working on chartering their next course. The captain picked it up, then winced as a stream of Spanish flooded into his ear. He never was good with Spanish. He did, however, manage to figure out what they wanted. He told the people on the other end, in broken Spanish, that their cargo was passengers and a few crates that he didn't know the contents of. He wasn't stupid. This wasn't the first time he'd done a gun-run. Finally, he was given clearance to dock.

"Helmsman, bring us in." he said.

"Aye, Captain," said the gecko at the wheel.

Meanwhile, on shore, in an air-conditioned SUV, a dog turned off a HAM radio, tucking the device away, then turning to the driver.

"Its set. Call in the cavalry."

The driver slid the window down slightly, tossed out his still-burning cigarette, then pulled out a cell-phone, speed-dialing a number.

The ship slowed speed to dead slow, finally coming to where it was to be berthed. Two sailors, both woodpeckers, leapt over the side, catching the ropes that were thrown after them, then tied the ship down as it stopped altogether. The gangplank was soon set down afterwards, and the process of unloading the cargo was underway. All the passengers lined themselves up on deck, all gazing out at the city. All were sweating in the immense heat, as well as the fact that some had to wear jackets to cover firearms they just could not drop. You can probably guess who they are.

Sly, Murray, and Penelope had been more than glad to shuck their guns, but if any of the McCoy Gang left the weapons behind, to them it would be like cutting off a limb. Marty sighed at that thought, wondering if he could drop his gun and leave it once he started his new life in America.

As the passengers started down the gangplank, Marty looked around briefly, noting all the crates at this part of the dock. Blinking, he looked back to the rest of the harbor. This part of the port hadn't been used in a while, he could tell. He also noticed that the other ships were all a fair distance from them. He frowned. Something just wasn't right.

Turning back around, he was just in time to see the tan cap of a Mexican police officer disappear behind a crate. He blinked again, thinking he had imagined it. Then, as he glanced around, he saw other flashes of movement. A cap here, a face there…a rifle barrel easing out from behind a crate.

Marty's eyes widened. The rest of the gang was grouped together on the dock, watching the ammunition crates being unloaded from the ship. The crates that the police were hiding behind were about ten feet from where the ammunition was being stacked, and there weren't that many crates to begin with. Only about twenty, and the last one was being unloaded.

The horse's hand went to his jacket and slowly undid the zipper…until he saw, plainly, a coyote rising up with a brand new T43 Shock Rifle, taking aim at Sly…

Marty never really knew what happened in the brief second when everything went to hell, even though, in the future, he would think on it time and time again. All he knew was that, suddenly, his gun was in his hand, his hand was up in the air, and he shouted "POLICE!" just as he fired off a single shot, into the air.

Then, every officer, all holding shock guns, sprang up from behind their crates, every gun barrel pointed at him, every sight set on him.

Then, he was hit with twenty 2,000 volt shock bolts. His whole body was electrocuted, his limbs rigid. However, that power had to go somewhere, right?

He was aware of his foot blowing up, aware of the blood that splattered on everything, aware of his gun exploding, aware of how his pinky finger and the finger next to it were blown off, saw them spiraling past his vision, but he felt no pain. In fact, he felt nothing at all. And suddenly, he knew no more.

As Caroline watched the ammo getting stacked up, she heard Marty shout "POLICE!" heard the single shot, and turned to see…nothing. Where Marty had been before, you could only see some shrapnel buried in the wood, a large scorch mark in a ring…and blood everywhere, as well as two of his fingers laying next to a crate, the bloody marks of where they'd hit still visible. And then she heard the splash. She hurried to the edge of the dock, saw a flash of brown in a mist of red, and without hesitation dove in.

At first, she couldn't see anything through the cloud of red, but after a second, her hand connected with something solid, and she grabbed it.

She felt leather.

Quickly, she tried to go for the surface, but realized that Marty's sheepskin coat and his remaining steel toed boot were weighing him down, and he was slowly sinking. Quickly, she pulled off the jacket, and it continued sinking, though the equine slowed a little. She could feel the carbon dioxide gathering in her lungs. She would have to breath soon.

The canine reached for Marty's remaining boot, feeling through the cloud of red, and managed to pull it off. The boot sank out of sight. Hurriedly, she pulled Marty up. She was almost there…and then she broke the surface, taking a deep breath. Her own boots were starting to weigh her down, so she quickly pulled on the laces, and the combat boots also sunk. She could hear shots up on the docks, and assumed that returning to the rest of the gang wasn't a safe decision. She started towing Marty, instead, over towards the end of the dock, hoping to find a place she could hide.

It was hell on Earth up topside. As soon as Caroline had jumped into the water, a large cougar with a Shock Rifle, undoubtedly the squad leader, had stood up and, in rough English, yelled "FREEZE! YOU'RE ALL UNDER ARREST!"

What did you expect happened next? Murray, Penelope and Sly had all hit the dock, so to speak, while everyone else drew. Carmelita had snuck away a Sig Sauer while everyone else was distracted, and she fired a few covering shots, taking cover behind a crate of ammo. Dimitri had gone for the Luger in his shoulder holster, which he had carried since Sly broke him out of Venice, seeing as how his Shock Bracelet had been confiscated, and made a run for the water, which was cut short by a shock bolt catching his tail. Dimitri was knocked to the wood, gun clattering away, which was grabbed up by Murray, who made a bull run for the police's hiding place. He took about five or six shock bolts, all spaced out, before he went down, falling face down a foot from a condor, who was staring at the hippo in shock before one of Julio's well aimed shots hit him between the eyes, splattering blood onto the bobcat behind him.

Mikhail was firing, reloading, and then firing again, catching one officer here, another there, two here, and repeating the aforementioned process before both guns clicked for the twelfth time. Instinctively, his hands went to his belt, where he kept his magazines, but only felt empty slots. Panicked, he felt the entire length of the belt, but it was the horrifying truth; he'd run out of ammo. A shock blast caught him in the chest, and he went down.

Julio peeked out, dodging back down as another shock bolt hit the crate he was hiding behind and dissipated. He crept around to the other side of the crate, easing his Buntline around the corner, then taking a breath, squinting at a patch of tan, then squeezing the trigger. The gun bucked, the patch fell away. Then, a blue blur zoomed toward him, and the wolverine was knocked back ten feet, still clutching his gun.

Carmelita watched as Bentley, who was putting his new wheel machine guns to work, hovered in the air briefly to dodge a shock bolt before another one caught in the chest. The turtle went flying, but when the chair hit the dock, the machine guns kept firing, peppering a box of ammo repeatedly.

Carmelita's eyes widened and she yelled "QUICK! INTO THE WATER!"

She sprinted for the sea, with Penelope right behind her. She blinked when she saw no Sly. Where the hell was he?

And then, Sly's hero moment was played. A smoke bomb went off behind the police lines, blinding the uniformed officers, some of whom were smart enough to run out of the cloud. However, the stupid ones ran out and fired into it. Soon, a crossfire was going, in which some of the officers got hit by stray bolts.

Finally, the cloud dissolved, revealing about five unconscious officers, with Sly in the center. It was obvious that some officers had been hit by the shock bolts, but others had, just as obviously, been knocked over the head by a certain C-shaped blunt object.

It was, at this moment, when the crate of ammo exploded.

It caught all the other crates in the blast, knocking Carmelita, Penelope, the wheelchair, and the unconscious forms of Bentley and Dimitri into the water. As the blood-warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico closed around her head, Carmelita wondered how anything could get much worse. She was about to get her answer.

(I'm evil, aren't I?)


	16. Caroline's Revelation

(A/N: Hey, sorry that this one's a litle shorter than the others. I got stuck after the end. Couldn't think of a better ending. Oh, and another note, I won't be giving sneak peeks anymore (dodges thrown tomato) because if I give anything else away, I won't have to tell the story. ( get's hit by another tomato) But I will update more often, I can promise that!)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Tampico, Mexico**

**5:07 am**

As the police hauled the unconscious forms of Murray, Sly, Julio, and Mikhail to the vans, they forgot to take special notice for where the prisoners' guns were. Not far away from the commotion of the prisoners and casualties being loaded up, an intact crate sat on the docks next to the ship, splattered with blood and covered with ashes. The police, however, gave it no mind, and simply removed the fugitives, anxious to call in the chief about the double agent, Sly Cooper, as well as capturing two-thirds of the McCoy Gang. In the squad leader's mind, he was already counting Marty as a fatality, the others as escapees, and envisioning the medal that would undoubtedly be awaiting him back at the station.

Two squad vans, one to transport the prisoners, the other to transport the officers, were being loaded up when one officer, the coyote who'd started the shootout (and gotten a bullet piercing his ear for it), had looked back at the dock to see something peculiar. It seemed to be a black hand clutching the boards from below. He leaned forward, squinting. But then, it was gone, and had he been listening carefully, which is hard to do after being in a shootout without earplugs, he would've heard a faint splash. But instead, he simply shrugged, disregarding it as a figment of his imagination and climbing up into the van where his companions were calling to him. The door shut behind him, and the van took off for Mexico City, HQ of the Mexican Interpol branch. The other van followed it, backfiring with a loud bang.

A minute passed.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

Finally, the officer who'd been left behind to watch for re-enforcements hiding on the ship leapt down from his perch. The vulture straightened his cap and uniform, then set off for the train station, rifle slung over his shoulder.

Five more minutes passed.

A paper blew past on a breeze that stirred the humid fog. A pelican flew past, eyes scanning the water for leaping fish.

Finally, when all seemed quiet as the grave, the crate blew up. Well, actually, more like disappeared in a cloud of dust. In its place stood a little old koala, his arms holding a bundle of guns and a walking staff. Slowly, the Guru set down each pistol, making sure it didn't fall through the cracks in the boards. Dimitri's Luger was placed down first. Then Sly's automatic, Carmelita's Sig Sauer, dropped on the run due to being empty, Julio's Buntline, and Mikhail's twin silenced Glocks. The Guru had gathered all these up in the chaos, then hidden, knowing it would be these weapons of today, not ancient magic, that would save the rest of the gang now.

A noise under the dock prompted the Guru to turn around, suspiciously, then peer curiously over the edge. In the water, clinging to the ship's anchor chain, was Caroline, Penelope, and Carmelita. Dimitri, still out, was hanging by the collar of his jacket from the anchor chain, a burn mark on his tail where the shock bolt had hit. Bentley had already been brought around, and was hanging onto his now ruined wheelchair, looking like he would burst into tears any minute. The chair was no longer fit for combat use, but certain functions of it were still on-line, such as the buoyancy system, recently installed, never tested. It was supposed to shoot out rubber pontoons from the sides, but only one had been deployed, and was still a little flat. The other had been pierced by one of Mikhail's ricocheting bullet's.

Everyone looked in pretty good shape. Nothing but a few cuts and bruises.

And then the Guru looked at Marty. The horse's still form was slumped over what was left of one of the ammunition crates, and was being held by Caroline. To put it simply, Marty looked like hell. Numerous burn marks covered his chest, the shock bolts had reduced his shirt to shreds, his hat was gone, his pants and coat of hair matted with blood, two fingers on his right hand missing. But the thing that made Marty REALLY look like he'd gone to hell and back, and then gone in again, was what made the Guru sick to his stomach; Marty's right foot was gone.

No, screw that, half his lower leg was gone.

A bit of bone poked out of the blackened, burned flesh where the electricity that had coursed through him had decided to make its exit. Blood kept pouring, non-stop, despite the cloth Caroline had wrapped around the stump, which technically only covered half of it.

The Guru made a noise of alarm, and everyone looked up at the koala, first panic, then relief written over all their faces.

Except Caroline.

She didn't even look up at Guru. She just kept staring at Marty. The same thought kept running through her mind; He'd known how potent a Shock Pistol was, and a Shock Rifle was even more powerful. Yet, he'd gone ahead and risked his life to warn them. And now he was dying, blood spewing from a missing leg and two fingers.

She felt a tugging on her shoulder and turned into the sympathetic face of Carmelita.

"Hey, c'mon kid, we've gotta get moving. The cops could be back anytime, or Muggshot could send his goons to pick us up."

Caroline nodded slowly, not really hearing her. She looked back at Marty, whose shoulder she was still clutching. After about another minute, Carmelita tugged on her shoulder again, and this time, she followed, pulling the equine through the water, all the while turning her mind to a new thought; this strange connection to Marty McCoy. As Carmelita and Penelope helped her haul the muscular horse up the ship's gangway, she came to a startling, and slightly disturbing, conclusion.

In the short time they'd known each other, Marty McCoy, despite being a wanted killer on the vengeance trail, had saved her life twice now. He'd stuck up for her every time someone, Bentley, Julio, anyone, had questioned her being with them. His mind was determined, intelligent, and deadly. His hands could take apart, clean, reassemble, load, and fire any weapon in about ten minutes, and he would hit the target, whether it was moving or not. She'd seen him practice in the new gun range in the Hazard Room of the Cooper Gang Paris Safe house. True, whoe wouldn't deny she had taken every opportunity she could get to sneak a look at him, his rugged face, his stubbled jaw, his cold, searching eyes. He didn't even need gel to keep his hair up like that, and he was constantly sweating, enough to lay his hair flat. Must've been a hereditary thing. She'd also watched Marty go at it with a punching bag. His hits kept getting harder and harder, until finally he knocked the damn thing clean off the chains fastening it to ceiling and floor. The bag had then bounced off the wall and fallen with a wump. After that, he had simply stooped over, picked the bag up with one hand, and reattached the chain with the other, then moved on to the treadmill. Yes, he was certainly a force to behold. Even without a Kevlar vest, he took bullets with only a grunt from the impact, then pulled the bullets out later with his own hand and treat the wounds all by himself. He'd said he'd only had training in medical school for about half a year, but he must've learned a lot in that time. Of course, learning surgery on your own could prove very handy after a gunfight.

All these things, courage, respect to others, loyalty to his parents and friends, determination, strength, intelligence, and ruggedness were all the very essence of Marty. None made itself more clear than the other. In every man she'd ever met, she'd saw one of these elements portray itself strongly, and only faint glimmers of the others. Marty was like a mixing pot, set on full spin. You couldn't pull one piece of his soul apart from the other and say it was stronger.

To sum it up, it was, at that moment, standing alone on the fog-covered docks, that Caroline realized why she was thinking these things about Marty, a younger man she had met only a little over two weeks ago. Miraculously, even though she despised men in general…

She was in love with him.

(Ba-ba-ba-bummmmmm!)


	17. Can It Get Worse?

(A/N: Aloha! i'm back, and No, not from Hawaii. Sorry, folks, I've only been to Calirfornia, Nevada, Arizona, and some obscure island in the Pacific that I don't really want to remember the name of right now.)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Tampico, Mexico**

**5:31 am**

The ship was deserted. Of all life, that is. Meaning living stuff. But no one said anything about the dead.

The captain and crew had refused to go quietly, and had fought as hard as sailors could. Armed with shotguns and pistols, as soon as the first officer had stepped on board, they'd opened fire. What was left of that first officer fell into the ocean, and that was when the Shock Guns went down and the machine guns and riot shields had come up. Their superior weapons, armor and training had proved to be all the advantage the police needed to bring the sailors down. Coupled with a few flash bang grenades and the cover of the rest of the ammunition crates on board, the police had been able to slice through the superior numbers the sailors possessed and soon left the ship a bloodbath. Captain Cannings had even made a stand in the wheelhouse, but to no avail. The sawn-off pump shotgun he'd had wasn't enough to penetrate the Interpol riot shields. The hound had been blasted through the wheelhouse window and onto the deck, where he was now laying.

The police had then simply pulled out, since they couldn't be sure of what else the ship might contain that a surviving crew member might set off. A bomb? A call for reinforcements? That was why they left everything on the ship and had simply stationed the vulture to monitor the craft.

However, as Carmelita walked on board, the deck was empty, save for the captain's body, which was sunk, slightly, into the deck, or more precisely, the dent his body had made.

Carmelita readjusted the weight of the horse on her shoulder and reached for the hatch that led into the cargo hold. The thing squeaked open, the hinges having seemingly rusted over in two hours. The hold was pitch black, but the smell of gun smoke wafted up to them, reminding what they had just lived through.

"Watch yourselves," said Carmelita over her shoulder as she descended the steps, still supporting a viciously bleeding Marty on her shoulder, which was starting to grow stained and strained. "Who knows what could have happened in two-woah!"

She slipped, toppling under the equine's mass and dropping said equine. Marty rolled away for a few feet with a dull _clunk_, but Carmelita had landed on something soft. And still warm…

A sickly red light suddenly sputtered into existence as Penelope lit a flare and held it up, gasping at what she saw. Carmelita looked down…and retched. She had been laying on the body of a Mexican Interpol officer…without a face. He must've been hit by a shotgun blast. She looked behind her to see a puddle of dark red. She had slipped in his blood. She couldn't hold it back this time, and vomited, all over the floor.

Penelope and Guru were now standing behind her, and while Penelope was looking as though she would have to do the same, covering her mouth with her unoccupied hand, Guru only looked slightly discomforted. Came with all that training, maybe.

Once Carmelita was able to pull her head back up and look around, she noticed that Caroline wasn't with them. It took about two seconds for the other two to also realize this.

"I'll go find her!" Penelope eagerly volunteered, and was up the steps before anyone could stop her.

Carmelita sighed and looked back at the hold. The flare had been dropped by Penelope in her dash to escape, and was now laying the pool of blood nearest the steps. By its light, the vixen and koala could see several other bodies. Most of them were crewmen, but here or there were a few bodies of police officers. It had been a helpless defense, but the sailors had managed to take a few men down.

Carmelita looked over to Marty, and saw his own blood pooling. Down here, his shallow breathing made his chest seem still, and he seemed like just another corpse from a valiant battle. That's how he would've wanted to die, anyway. She could tell that much.

Getting up, Carmelita walked over to Marty and lifted him, with a large amount of effort, back onto her shoulder. She wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. The smell of death, gunpowder and blood in the hold had that sort of effect on her. As quickly as she could, she hurried towards the Med bay.

Penelope, meanwhile, was standing with her head over the side of the ship, retching as she lost her stomach contents to the foggy waters. She finally stood up and, wiping her mouth, looked around. Bentley was still where she had left him, sitting next to the still unconscious form of Dimitri, staring mournfully into the fog. She understood his grief. He'd made that wheelchair after failing several times, and managed to use the working one for about three years. Now, one gunfight and it all fell apart. Literally.

She took her eyes off her sullen boyfriend and ventured down the gangplank, slightly, looking for Caroline. She still had her Colt, which she drew, even though the water had ruined the ammunition. It was still a gun, and people feared guns.

A brief sweep of the area showed no signs of the Labrador. No evidence she had gone anywhere at all. And then she heard it. Further down the docks, she heard a creak. Then another. Every five seconds there was a creak. Slowly, the little mouse made her way down the dock until she was practically right on top of the noise.

And she tripped over it.

Caroline made no indication that she had noticed Penelope tripping over her. In fact, she didn't show any indication to noticing much at all. Further away, deeper into the city, there came the echoes of a gun fight. A gang war, probably. But while Penelope looked over warily in the direction of the noise, Caroline didn't move a muscle. The creaking actually turned out to be from her slowly swinging her legs as she looked into the water. She was actually considering drowning herself, that's how bad she felt.

_"What have I done?"_ she thought. _"It's bad enough that I agreed to go along with Marty and the gang, and even worse that I helped kill the Shuker brothers, but this time, this time I've dug myself a hole I won't EVER be able to get out of."_

Another part of Caroline's mind, the 'outlaw' part, couldn't really see what the big fuss was about. _"You're in love! C'mon, don't you see your opportunity? Don't tell me you haven't noticed him gazing at you!" _

_"He was probably having the same perverted thoughts that all the other sons-of-bitches I meet have." _

_"Are you crazy?! He's protected you, and he hasn't even made an advance on you!" _

_"__That's the point!" _Caroline snarled in her mind. _"He's not interested in romance at all! Why, I bet he hardly thinks of his 'friends' as more than business partners! When all this blows over, what did he say he was going to do? Oh, yes, start a new life IN AMERICA. He'll never have time for the likes of me, or any other woman. He's a tough-as-nails, down-to-business, no messing around, muscle bound gangster, for Christ's sake!"_

As the canine grappled with herself in her mind, Penelope looked around, nervously, then placed a tentative hand on Caroline's shoulder, attempting to bring her back. But, at this point, only the blast of a shotgun could do anything to grab her attention.

Which it did.

Two cars came screaming into the harbor, each firing at the other. Machine gun fire peppered the door of an El Camino while a shotgun blast neatly tore the cloth top off a Mustang. Caroline jumped at the gunfire and scrambled to her feet, drawing her Webley and taking a bead.

Even before she could get it, Penelope was dragging her backwards, saying "No! If you get involved, you'll only be torn apart! That's a gang war!"

Realizing she was right, Caroline reluctantly backed up the gangplank with Penelope, revolver still pointed into the blur of screeching metal and flying lead. As soon as they were safely on deck, Penelope took Caroline's revolver and cracked it open.

Empty.

"I figured as much," said Penelope, handing the revolver back to the Labrador. "I remembered Marty's and Julio's compromise. And since you dove into the water when the shooting started, you wouldn't have been able to shoot even if you had any ammo."

Just this simple sentence laced with logic seemed to snap the Labrador out of her adrenaline fueled gun rush. She blinked, then turned as another shotgun blast, seeming to have hit the driver of the Mustang, knocked the car off the docks and into the water. The El Camino swerved around, stopped for a few minutes while its occupants cheered, then sped off.

Caroline sighed, then turned back to Penelope, accepting the Webley back.

"You better go on down into the hold," said the mouse, glancing at Bentley, who was still sitting there. "Marty's not looking too good. Carmelita took him into the Med bay, but she's not a doctor, and I don't think even Guru can do too much to help."

Caroline's face became stony, and, holstering her Webley, she began striding towards the hatch to the hold. Once she was out of sight, Penelope turned to Bentley to snap him out of reverie.

Caroline barely noticed the carnage in the hold as she made her way straight to the Med bay, one thing on her mind; Marty. He might not notice her the way she noticed him, but that didn't mean she didn't still care about him. Finally reaching the door labeled **Med Bay** in red paint, she turned the wheel lock, then pushed the heavy steel open to a sight that was slightly disturbing to her. Carmelita was arguing with the Guru while both were trying to patch up Marty's wounds and stop the bleeding.

"I just need you to seal them up a little, not bring his leg back out of nothing!" snarled the vixen as she continuously wrapped a roll of gauze around what was left of Marty's right leg. Guru, meanwhile, was cleaning the stumps where Marty's missing fingers had been, trying to make the horse's knuckle hair clean enough to see what he was doing. The Guru responded in annoyed Aboriginal.

Carmelita, who'd learned to understand the koala to a degree, snapped back "Oh, well excuse me, your highness, if saving a-" she hesitated a fraction of a second, then continued "Friend's life tire you out!"

They continued to argue in this fashion, until Caroline made her presence known with a sharp "Oi!"

Both fox and koala shut up and turned to Caroline, blood dripping from the red liquid coating their arms up to their elbows, blood dripping out of Marty's wounds…finally, Caroline managed to tear her eyes away from the equine's form to look up at the odd pair in front of her.

"What's the situation?" she asked as calmly as she could, fighting to keep her voice from shaking, moving over towards a blood refrigerator to give herself something to do.

Carmelita picked up a bloodstained towel and attempted to wipe her hands, but it did no good. Guru simply muttered something, and instantly, his hands were clean.

Carmelita, fed up with wasting time with the cloth, simply threw it onto the same chair she had draped her jacket on, then sighed, turned back to Caroline, and said "Well, to put it frankly, not good. He's lost a lot of blood, and while Guru can-" the vixen's eyes narrowed as they snapped over towards the koala, who ignored her, cleaning up the numerous puddles of Marty's blood on the floor.

Carmelita continued, however. "Patch up Marty's wounds enough to make the bleeding stop, I don't know if he can live with that much blood-loss."

Caroline had opened the blood refrigerator, relieved to see all the bottles of blood, but devastated when she realized that she didn't know Marty's blood type. Carmelita, meanwhile, had caught on to what the canine was up to, and had pulled out a book on basic medicine, ignoring the fact that she was getting blood all over the front and back covers.

Setting the book on the counter, she opened the cover and turned a few pages until she reached the table of contents. The book was over 1000 pages thick, and a large section was devoted to blood. Flipping to the first page of the blood section, both women gulped at the small print. Small print meant a lot of words. Carmelita sighed, then said "Well, we better get cracking, kid. We got a lot to read, and the more time we take, the faster Marty bleeds."

**Mexican Highway**

**6:18 am**

Sly woke up to an aching head, and aching back…basically, an aching EVERYTHING. He heard other groans around him, and raised his head, opening his eyes.

Murray, Julio, and Mikhail were in the van with him, each rubbing their injuries, except Julio. The wolverine was still out.

Sly rubbed the back of his head, feeling a burn mark there where one of the Shock bolts had hit him. There was a hole in the middle of Mikhail's shirt, the cloth around the burned skin scorched. Mikhail cursed in Russian, muttering "And this was my best shirt!"

Murray was rubbing his gut, looking like he was going to be sick. The bottom of his shirt and the top of his pants were burned off, a scorch mark surrounding his pink belly button. Julio's vest and shirt had both been burned through.

After looking at their surroundings for a bit, which were actually very dull, Sly stood up and looked out the barred window. Endless desert rolled away from him, the heat distortion shimmering on the horizon.

It was only when Sly looked back into the van that he realized just how hot it was. Pulling off what was left of his shirt, he was going to reach for his cap to fan himself with, only to find it gone. Of course. What would the police care if he lost his hat?

Forgetting the hat momentarily, Sly pressed his ear against the wall that led to the cab. Though he was only a beginner in Spanish, he could get the gist of where they were going, and stood up sharply, a look of panic on his face.

"They're taking us to a prison outside of Mexico City," He said. "Murray and I are to be detained and interrogated, while you and Julio" he pointed, first to the panther, then to the still unconscious wolverine, "Are to be…" He couldn't say it. He finally did, in a hoarse whisper, on his third try.

"Executed."

(Sorry for the crappy ending, I just couldn't think of anything else.)


	18. Rebound!

(A/N: OK, before I start, I would just like to thank all my reviewers, especially Heiduska. You doing anything next Saturday? (winks) Anyway, I just want to give you one more little secret; somewhere in the next two or three chapters, I'm going Matrix on all your asses! HAHAHAHAHA!!! That means that I'll be borrowing the Lobby Shootout scene from the first Matrix, changing it a little, and putting it in the story, but I WILL NOT claim the whole thing as mine. I'll even put a disclaimer up on that chapter!)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Tampico, Mexico**

**7:47 am**

The blood had long since stopped dripping. It was still in the horse's coat of hair, but it was no longer puddling. In a chair nearby, a fox with blood on her arms up to her elbows slept where she had thrown herself down from exhaustion. An old, purple koala was leaning against the wall, sleeping peacefully. A light, over the surgical table, shone down on the horse, stretched out on the table, and a black Lab sitting in a chair next to him, simply staring at his face. Slowly, a hand reached out and brushed something invisible from the equine's face. His cheek twitched, and the hand retracted, slightly, but when nothing else happened, the hand came back, this time to stroke his cheek.

Nothing.

Caroline sighed. She had Carmelita had long since managed to convince the Guru to seal off Marty's wounds, but it took him more effort than it did to heal Carmelita's. Carmelita had been helping Caroline clean Marty's wound for about five minutes after the Guru finished before the vixen dropped herself into a chair and fell asleep.

Caroline, meanwhile, had finished cleaning the floor and had to find out on her own what Marty's blood type was. She hoped she'd pumped enough into him. The needle was still in his wrist, pumping the precious red liquid into his system.

Caroline knew she had done all she could have to help him, but she felt that it just wasn't enough. She ran a tired hand through her sweat-matted hair, which she had pulled into a ponytail to keep it out of her face. She knew that even if she took a sleep pill, she'd never drop off.

She looked back down at Marty's face again. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and she looked down at his right hand. His trigger finger had twitched, slightly. She looked back up at his face.

Nothing.

Then, the corner of his mouth moved slightly. His left eye also twitched. She heard a slight, almost inaudible, sound that seemed familiar. Then it came to her; Marty was groaning. It was quiet, but it meant that he was alive.

A grin broke out across her face, and she looked around. No one awake to celebrate with. She looked back down at Marty as he fell silent. Her grin slowly shrank to a relieved smile, and she leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, then stood back up, still smiling.

"It's about time."

Caroline's hand went for her Webley, and she spun and faced her adversary, who turned out to be…Penelope.

Caroline blinked, then she lowered and holstered her weapon. Penelope still had a trace of a smile on her face, but her eyebrows had gone up, some.

"Man, I would NOT want to be gunning against you. Jesse James wouldn't have stood a chance!"

Caroline blushed slightly at the admiration. The next statement, however, made her blush so much it was visible through her fur.

"You, uh, like Marty, huh?"

The damned mouse had such a smirk on her face, it seemed to stretch twice around her head.

Caroline looked away, desperate for anything to break the current conversation, though she didn't know why. Finding nothing satisfactory, she finally just muttered "Yes, why?"

Penelope's smirk only seemed to grow larger. Before she could speak, however, an all-too-familiar voice behind her said "Hey, sweet-candy, mind giving a freebie to a homie?"

Penelope, frowning, turned to find Dimitri struggling to pull Bentley down into the Med-Bay. Penelope frowned again, saying "When did you wake up? And why'd you bring him down here? Surely you saw the bodies?"

"Yeah, sure, and we would've been part of them if we hadn't come down here. The coppers is searching the port."

Penelope's eyes widened, and Caroline went over to wake up Carmelita, all the while asking "What for? Any idea?"

Dimitri nodded, having set Bentley down, and said "Yeah, yooz two's boyfriends' gangs broke the coop."

Caroline's mouth hung open at this remark, and she turned to face the lizard. She was not only shocked by news that the rest of the gang had escaped, but by Dimitri referring to Marty as her 'boyfriend.'

Was it really that obvious? If so, what if the others had noticed anything from Marty?

Before she could say anything, however, a groan sounded through the room. Every awake person turned to look at the surgical table, and every set of eyes popped open, and every mouth hung open to find Marty McCoy STANDING!

Well, leaning, actually, since all that was left of his right foot was a stump. He was supporting himself with his right hand and rubbing his head with his left. With no hat or shirt, his cropped, straight-standing mane stood free of any restraints, and coupled with his bare chest, he looked like-

"An Iroquois."

Everyone jumped, not as much as before, but still…anyway, Bentley was still talking.

Wait, Bentley was talking?

"They live on the East coast and they all have their hair like that."

Marty covered pressed his ears back along his head, rubbing it as he muttered "Please, Bentley, I have a splitting headache. Talk softer, PLEASE."

Looking at the others, he quietly asked "So, what have I missed? How bad did it get?"

Caroline smiled and began helping Marty back onto the bed, saying "It's actually getting a lot better right now, Marty."

In her head, the canine was doing some fast thinking. If it was obvious enough that she liked Marty that Dimitri noticed, could it be possible that SHE could notice if Marty liked her? She couldn't deny her feelings for him any longer. But what did HE feel about HER?

**Mexican Highway Between Tampico and Mexico City**

**6:43 am**

**One Hour Earlier**

It had been a half-hour. Now, it was a standoff.

One of the guards peered around his cover, one of the van's back doors, gripping his machine gun tightly. The prisoners had somehow blown open the back of the van without explosives, and slashed both tires without knives or broken glass. They were now out there, somewhere, and they had guns. The odds had originally been with the police, with a round dozen against four. However, with the elimination of two men to acquire guns, the score was then ten to four. Over the past half-hour, it had slowly been whittled down to an even match-four on four. Each side knew that the other was running low on ammunition. If the fight carried on like this much longer, someone on the road would have to notice the totaled van…if it hadn't been two miles off-road.

The guard peered further around, then ducked down as the gleam of gunmetal flashed through his vision. A fraction of a second later, a shot rang out, ricocheting off the door. The guard turned to his comrades. Fear showed on each of their faces. One of them was thinking, then took off his tan-colored helmet. He set it on the end of his gun barrel, then held it up, so that the top of the helmet was dancing just over the top of the van. A second later, a shot rang out, and the helmet went flying.

Julio grinned as he watched the tan metal disappear. The machine gun he had was best for full combat, but not very good for marksmanship. Or, at least, it wasn't SUPPOSED to be. Crouching back down behind the rock formation the rest of the gang were also hiding behind, Julio grinned again as he heard the panicked shouts in Spanish of surrender. There was silence for a few seconds, then sixteen guns, three machine guns, a pump-action shotgun, four semi-automatic pistols, four Shock Rifles and four Shock Pistols all flew out from behind the van. Grins and smiles spread all around the gang. Interpol liked it's troops well prepared.

As the guards came out, so did the gang. Murray dropped the machine gun he'd grabbed, instead picking up the shotgun, pleased to find it a fourteen-gauge. It had decent power, yet was manageable enough so that he could fire it rapidly. Julio picked up two more machine gun magazines, while Mikhail scooped up another pistol as Sly grabbed ammunition.

When all four had guns that they liked, they all faced the guards.

"Alright guys," said Julio, in Spanish. "This is how it'll work. You give us the ammunition you have on you, then take off your boots and start walking."

"Walking? Barefoot? Are you _loco,_ _senior_? It's ten miles to Mexico City, and even farther to Tampico!"

"Better walk fast, then." snarled Sly, cocking the 9mm he held.

The guards passed a look of apprehension among themselves, then began pulling out their ammunition. However, when one of the guards reached for his boot, he suddenly straightened, and in his hand there was an Uzi machine pistol, pulled from a concealed leg holster. The other guards, seeing this, also reached for leg holsters and came up with machine pistols. Everyone drew beads on the other side, and in a burst of gunfire, it was over. The guards had barely gotten off twenty shots together, and none of the Cooper/McCoy Gang were injured.

Sly threw down his 9mm and started collecting Uzis and ammo, saying "Get guns and ammo. We may need it later. Also, put on some boots. I don't know about you guys, but I'm not walking into Mexico City barefoot." "We're still going to Mexico City, comrade?" Mikhail questioned, a puzzled look on his face. Sly turned back to him, a clever grin on his face as he shoved a fresh magazine into the Uzi he held.

"Of course. With this little stunt he's organized, Muggshot will think he's finished us. Exactly the right time to strike."

(Review, or else I'll call in Neo! You do remember what he did to all those Agents, right?)


	19. New Ideas and Arrivals

(A/N: Wonderful news people! The plot bunnies are digging into my head, and I've already got a sequel to this fic planned out! I don't have a title though...but I do have a basic storyline! You'll find out later, after this fic, but before I start working on Cry of the Raven. Stay tuned!)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Tampico, Mexico**

**8:17 am**

As it turned out, Marty was worse off than it seemed. The first time he tried to stand on his own, without leaning on anything, he became so dizzy that he couldn't see. To make it worse, his right hand and leg as well as his chest were all numb.

"Probably just have to shake off the effects of all that electricity," Marty had commented later while he lay in one of the beds in the Med Bay. The IV full of blood had been reinserted into his wrist, since it had come out in his initial struggle to stand.

Caroline spent every minute she could with him, having conversation whenever he spoke. Marty had pressed his hands over his torso and found three or four fractured ribs where the Shock Bolts had hit him, right under his collarbone, so he couldn't speak very loud or laugh very hard, but at least he was still alive, still awake.

Currently, everyone was grouped together, trying to decide what to do next. Bentley had 'borrowed' one of the regular wheelchairs from the Med Bay, and was currently setting up his slide show. Marty had swung his leg-and-a-half over the side of the bed, rubbing his jaw in thought. The Guru was sitting on top of the now clean surgical table with Dimitri, while Carmelita, arms still stained with Marty's blood even after a half-hours' scrubbing, was sitting backwards on the chair with her jacket on it. Penelope was currently trying to hook up the last piece of the slideshow equipment, the projector, while Bentley put numerous pictures into a slideshow. Once everything was hooked up, the lights were dimmed and the show was on. First up was a picture of the police from earlier, all aiming their guns at the camera on Bentley's old wheelchair.

"Ok, here's the situation; we've been ambushed by the police, who knew exactly where, when, and how many we'd be. Sly, Mikhail, Murray, and Julio were hauled off, but we've heard that they managed to escape."

The picture flicked to one showing a police car cruising the harbor. "Unfortunately, they've put the police onto our scent. I've not doubt that their watching the ship. In fact-" The picture zoomed on a particular spot. Bentley typed a little more, and the image came into focus; a coyote, crouching at the top of a fire escape, holding a sniper rifle and looking straight at the camera. "They've been doing so since the guys escaped." finished Bentley.

The frown on Marty's face deepened slightly as a thought occurred to him. Filing it away for now, he listened to the rest of Bentley's slide show. Meanwhile, the turtle had started up again.

"Now, the police have a blockade outside the harbor, so we won't be able to escape to the sea, not even if we had a destroyer. Instead, we'll just need to wait out the heat here. We can hold off whatever the police can throw at us, right?" The last part seemed more like he was looking for reassurance than a rhetorical question.

Bentley was about to end the slideshow, when Marty sat up, pulling the IV out of his arm with a small grunt. Caroline got up from her seat, worry etched on her face, and extended an arm to help keep Marty up, which he gratefully accepted. Using Caroline as balance, Marty managed to hop over to a chair next to Bentley's laptop, then plopped down in it.

After a few seconds brief rest, he said "Well, actually Bentley, there IS something else we can do."

After examining the computer for a few seconds, Marty began typing slowing, halting every once in a while to hold his head. The rest of the room looked curiously on, but couldn't what the horse was doing because his massive frame blocked it from their view.

Finally, twenty minutes later, Marty turned the chair around to face his audience, then reached back and punched a button on the laptop. The regular picture of the harbor popped up again, and Marty zoomed in on the coyote again, but this time, the sniper was only off to the side.

What Marty was focusing on was in the background.

"The _Rio Panuco_," Marty began, halting again to hold his head for a second, then continuing. "The _Rio Panuco_ is part of one of the many deltas in Mexico. It stretches from the sea all the way to within-" Marty looked back at the computer screen, which currently displayed a map of Mexico from an Internet browser, checked the scale, did some quick figuring in his head, then said "Within thirty miles of Mexico City. It's also the only river in its delta deep enough and wide enough to let the ship go all the way. We've got the van, and if we empty the ship of all other cargo, it should be light enough to travel downriver. We'll move all the guns and ammunition up to the captain's cabin, throw the bodies overboard, and lighten the ship of everything else that isn't bolted down, then head for the channel. The police probably won't be expecting us to make a move as daring as that."

Marty clicked and brought up his second picture, this one an arial view of Mexico City. Marty indicated with his hand a tall, recently built casino whose sign read 'The Boneyard.'

"It's probably not too hard to figure out that this is Muggshot's base of operations. I'm betting that by the time we make it to Mexico City, the boys will have cleared Muggshot and most of his goons out of the place, so we'll be there for an escape route. If one of them still has a cell phone, COMM link or Binocucom, we can give them the green light."

Marty typed a little more, pausing twice to hold his head again, and brought up his final picture; another port city.

"This is Monterrey. It's only about fifty miles from Mexico City, so, since it's highly unlikely that we'll be able to turn this ship around in the _Rio Panuco_, this'll be our best escape. However, this whole plan hinges on the hope that nothing has been done to the river. If there are any dams or bridges in the way, we'll have to blast through."

Marty shut down the slideshow program, closed the laptop, then turned to the others to see their reactions. Everyone was thoughtful. Then, Dimitri had to do what he did best; open his big mouth.

"HAHA! Yooza plan, it brilliant! We gotta dice-a-roni chance of making it!"

Bentley, eyebrows raised, said "It's sketchy at best, but I never would've come up with something like that! Points to you on that one, Marty!"

Penelope expressed her thoughts by walking up to the horse and giving him a kiss on the cheek, which made both Marty and Caroline turn red, Marty from embarrassment, and Caroline from jealousy. Penelope pulled back, smiling, and said "Hey, Bentley, you know how I like smart men? Well you better pull something fast, because this guy's starting to catch my eye!" It was said more as a joke, but Caroline could feel her anger simmering in her gut.

_"Easy, now. She's just messing around. Marty actually has come up with a good plan."_

Carmelita, however, had one troubling thought.

"Just how long do you think it'll take to get there, McCoy?"

Marty frowned again, thinking. After a minute, and one head-holding, said "Probably about six days. I need one with no movement to recover sufficiently, then I'll be alright for the five days it'll take to get to the end of the river."

Carmelita frowned back and asked "How do you know you'll be alright? I know you're tough, but this might kill you if you're wrong." Before the equine could say anything, however, Caroline piped up, a clever smile on her face as she said "Oh, don't worry. Marty's one-fourth of the way to becoming a doctor, and what he didn't learn at school, he learned on his own."

Everyone looked, first at the grinning canine, then at the horse who was trying not to meet anyone's eyes. Caroline's tail, which had just been hanging out the back of the chair a moment ago, began to wag slightly as her smile grew even broader at the thought of what Marty could be like with a full doctor's education. He was already a good surgeon with only one year of college. He was probably even better than that slime ball Richardson right now.

At that point, an idea, which would eventually shape the future of the equine sitting next to her, formed itself in her mind. At first, she dismissed it, thinking it impossible, but the more she pondered on it, the more it began to make sense. Filing it away for later use, Caroline stood up to help Marty back to the bed. He was looking a little sleepy.

**Mexico City**

**8:36 am**

A shabbily dressed rabbit was scrounging around in a trash can on the outskirts of town, looking for scraps to eat. It had been twelve whole hours since he last ate, and his stomach was reminding him. He paused, briefly and looked out at the desert. Normally, there wasn't anything there, just dunes and dust clouds.

This time, though, there was something else.

Three figures, one taller, one shorter, were walking towards the city. The rabbit squinted, trying to make them out. In a few minutes, they came into focus, and he cringed, a look of horror on his face. The figures were a tall black panther, a middling raccoon and a short wolverine. All three were dressed in ragged clothing and wearing police issue combat boots.

But that's not what scared the rabbit. What scared him was the fact that they were carrying guns.

Each had a 9mm pistol in a holster belted around his waist, but the panther had two more, stuffed into his waist band. The raccoon carried two Uzi machine pistols, one in each hand, and another poked out of his belt. The wolverine, meanwhile, had an assault rifle cradled in his arms, with a telescope taped to the top.

The rabbit stumbled backwards, then turned and made a run for it, reverting to all fours for extra speed.

As Sly, Mikhail and Julio stepped into the shade, two of them let out sighs of relief. Mikhail, after all, was from Russia, and Sly just didn't like heat. Julio, on the other hand, was accustomed to the sticky humidity of a Portuguese summer, and paid no attention to the baking temperature. Mikhail was the first to speak.

"Well, comrades, what should we do first? Undoubtedly, we can't take on Muggshot like this. We stick out like sore thumbs."

Sly could see his point, and looked around a little for something to help them out. A clothing shop on the corner caught his eye. The store was still closed, and it looked like one slight jimmy of the lock, and the doors would pop open. Looking around, Sly made sure they were alone, then motioned to the other two to follow him. As it turned out, Sly's thoughts were correct. As soon as he inserted the wire he used for a lock pick, the double doors sprang inward. Sly held out his hand, looking around. No motion detectors. No laser security. Hell, no cameras, even. Sly looked back at the rows of clothing and grinned. Muggshot wouldn't be able to tell them apart from the Mexican population once they were done here.


	20. Marty's Confession

(A/N: Surprise! Here's the next part, but I'm in a hurry right now, so I'll cut this off right here!)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Tampico, Mexico**

**4:39 am**

**Next Day**

Marty lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't get back to sleep, no matter what he tried. His leg and fingers had long since ceased their numbness, and while his fingers didn't hurt, his leg did whenever he moved it. He still had the knee joint, so he was thankful for that, but if his leg didn't get better soon, he didn't know if it would be able to get it into the prosthesis Bentley had built.

The titanium leg was an ingenious prototype, one that Bentley said was supposed to minimize any limping Marty had as well as give added comfort. The leg was underneath his bed right now, and he had already tried it numerous times, all to stagger over in pain, jerking the leg off.

They were supposed to set sail and charge towards the mouth of the _Rio Panuco_, and he would need all the strength he could get, he knew it. Yet, something kept him awake, something that just made him glance, repeatedly over to the bed next to him; the black lab sleeping peacefully there.

Marty had spent the last half-hour simply admiring her face, wondering why she seemed this beautiful even when covered with sweat, grime, dirt, oil, and blood, and be even more so when she was asleep. He slowly reached out with his left hand, the one he knew wouldn't tremble from blood loss. The IV was still stuck in his right wrist, and he had to refill it every two hours. It was a job he knew he could do, so the others could go about doing what he couldn't; mainly, lightening the ship. With all cargo other than guns and ammunition dumped overboard, they'd already taken three hundred and fifty pounds off the craft. But it still wasn't enough. By Bentley's estimations, it would take another sixty to seventy pounds to make the ship, newly christened the _Orca_, light enough to go through the mouth of the delta. Once they were past, they wouldn't have any major problems with depth until the end of the river.

Marty's fingers gently closed on a lock of Caroline's dirty hair. Even though it was filthy with sweat, blood and grime, to him it felt like the softest thing in the world. Marty smiled, gently, then, even more gently, let go of the canine's hair and stroked her cheek. Caroline gave out a small noise of satisfaction, and Marty smiled. Undoubtedly, she was thinking of a loving boyfriend, or even husband, back home in Paris or London.

Retracting his hand, Marty looked back up at the ceiling, reviewing again in his mind about just why he didn't deserve Caroline;

One, she was a Labrador, and he was a hybrid species of horse. He respected their difference in species, for she might want to be with another dog.

Two, and the strongest, she was a law enforcement officer, and he was a killer on the vengeance trail. Even after all this blew over, she would probably go back to solving crimes and busting criminals like him.

Three, their ages. He had just turned eighteen, and Julio had told him that she would soon be twenty-two. Women never liked younger men, he knew that much.

Four, why WOULD she want him, anyway? In his opinion, there was nothing really attractive about him. Oh, sure, he was muscled, but there was nothing attractive about HIM, himself as a person. And now, he was a cripple.

So, Marty kept his distance. Still, it was hard to suppress his…what were they? Thoughts? Feelings? Maybe both.

Marty sighed, the breath blowing out through his lips in the classic equine lip flapping. Why was he so concerned if Caroline wanted him? The answer was simple, but complicated at the same time;

Caroline showed a level of superiority over him, that much was certain. She had a full college education, she was definantly more intelligent, and she wasn't wanted by the law. Her dedication to justice and order stood out everywhere, starting when she first saw him back in the Paris safe house and attempted to knock him out. She was a wiry little thing, but he had no doubt that if he hadn't stopped that spinning kick she threw before it hit him, he probably would have been laid out, out cold. She had once said that she was in Weapons Research and Development, and her surprise at seeing all the guns in his closet put him off slightly. He never figured that she would be that big of a gun fanatic, or enthusiast, whatever you called it.

She was attractive, he was rugged. She was wiry, he was muscled. She was fully educated, he was a dropout. She was a mature adult woman, he was still a teenager. Their differences were numerous.

Yet, despite all this, despite the fact that Marty considered a love-life a waste of time, despite the fact that it just plain wasn't supposed to happen…

_"I love her,"_ he thought to himself.

He felt moisture on his cheek, and put his hand up there to discover a tear running down his face.

This shocked him to the core. He quickly pulled his hand away and stared at it in the dark. The last time he had cried was eight years ago, over his parents' bodies. He'd never shed a tear after that. Not in school fights, not the first time he got shot, not even when his parents were actually buried.

Marty's breath became ragged as that simple drop of liquid hit him like a sledgehammer.

_"I love her,"_ he thought again, then continued as he felt another tear squeeze out of his other eye. _"And I can't do a damn thing about it."_

Marty forced his eyes over to Caroline's sleeping form. Her back was to him, and Marty knew he had to just get it out of his system, get it off his chest; even if she didn't actually hear it.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, then, in a hoarse whisper, said "Caroline, I know you can't hear me." He stopped, taking another ragged breath before continuing. "It doesn't really matter though. What I'm about to say is something that I can never say to you face-to-face; Caroline, we're so different, and we've known each other only a short while, but in that time, something has happened to me, something that I know will cripple me for the rest of my life." He paused again, and when she didn't respond, he kept going. "Sure, I may have lost half my leg, but that's nothing compared to this. A leg can be substituted. A heart can't." Marty took one more deep breath before he let the truth out; "Caroline…I love you."

Marty felt more moisture in his eyes and knew that he was already crying. Here he was, aboard a freighter in Mexico, sleeping in the Med-Bay, two feet away from the woman he loved and knew he could never have.

Slowly, Marty turned his face back to the ceiling, letting the tears flow freely, knowing that trying to hold them back would be impossible.

What he didn't realize, however, was that his confession hadn't fallen on deaf ears like he'd thought.

Caroline's eyes were wide with shock, and her mind kept echoing the same thought; _"Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God."_

She had woken up about five minutes ago and had turned onto her side to try and find a comfortable spot so she could fall back asleep, but then Marty had started talking. Now, she didn't think she would catch one wink of sleep. The canine could hear Marty's quiet sobs, and knew that he was heartbroken because he thought that they couldn't be together. Right now, however, Caroline had never felt more alive. The only question now was, how to make Marty see the possibility? If she could do that, it would be a lot easier to present her idea once everything blew over.

**Mexico City**

**5:29 am**

The cougar who had led the ambush at the docks, one Detective Emanuel Herrerez, was currently sitting in his squad car, watching the alley that the escapees were supposedly hiding in. Ever since the news of the escape, Herrerez's career had been on the line. Unless he could bring in Sly Cooper, he would undoubtedly be fired. He had John Doe warrants on the other two, which meant capture if possible, but don't hesitate to shoot to kill.

Around him were four squad cars, all with officers waiting for his signal. Herrerez's feline eyes finally caught movement, and he snarled in glee, a toothy grin spreading over his face. He put a hand up to the radio wire coiling out of his ear to the handset at his waist, and whispered "I saw them. Move in."

Instantly, all eight officers got out of their cars, all carrying assault rifles and wearing full body armor, including face masks. Herrerez, wearing only the basic Kevlar vest and armed with the standard Shock Pistol and 9mm handgun, got out of his car and hung back, hands flexing near both guns.

The officers separated, four on each side of the alley. One of the officers, a bobcat, held up two spread fingers, then put them together and pointed at the alley. Instantly, two more officers, a condor and a coyote, slipped out of line and into the mouth of the alley. They would have proceeded with this pattern until all officers were in the alley, but something interrupted this pattern; five bursts of gunfire from inside the alley.

Both the officers fell over, dead, while bullets whistled out, some ricocheting off walls, others grazing the closer officers' arms as they ducked for cover.

**"Open fire!"** came the shout from the bobcat, and every officer took up a position at the mouth of the alley and fired in.

For the first two seconds, there was only gunfire.

Then, radio chatter as each officer began to panic at what he saw.

**"Holy Christ! Is that a shotgun?" **

**"I'm hit!" **

**"The wolverine's got a telescope or something on that assault rifle!" **

**"Stand still you little bastard!" **

**"_Santa Maria, madre de dios!_ He's running up the wall!" **

**"Aargh!" **

**"Martinez is down, I repeat, Martinez is-aaack!" **

**"We're taking heavy casualties!" **

**"Look out!" **

**"What the hell?" **

**"He's behind us!" **

**"How'd he-urrgh!" **

**"I can't hit him! Christ, he's actually dodging my bullets!"**

Machine gun fire lit up the dark area by the mouth of the alley, revealing a figure firing two Uzis on the officers and weaving back and forth, but only for a few seconds.

Finally, the radio went silent, and the alley dark.

Herrerez, panicking now, had drawn both pistols and was frantically backing away, back to his car. He saw movement in the alley, then heard soft voices. His back ran into his vehicle, and he scrambled inside, not bothering to shut the door as he floored the gas.

Back in the alley, Sly, Mikhail, Murray, and Julio were walking among the bodies, making sure that they were all dead. Mikhail took another glance up at the disappearing car, lifting his sunglasses to get a better look.

"Are you sure you want to let that one escape, comrade? I thought we wanted to lay low."

Sly looked up from searching the bobcat, waving his hand and saying "Ah, who cares? It's one cop. Besides, this'll give Interpol the scare of a lifetime."

Mikhail grunted, took a final glance at the disappearing lights, then turned back to the bodies. They had all gotten new clothes, and with sunglasses and hats hiding their faces, they looked almost like local gangsters. Sly was wearing a thick, padded blue jacket and a thin fake mustache. Sly had wanted them because he'd said they looked like the same ones he'd worn on the trip to Blood Bath Bay. Dark sunglasses, a blue bandanna wrapped around his head, baggy black jeans, and the combat boots he'd taken from the dead guard finished the outfit.

Murray, in keeping with his 'pink bodybuilder' look, had taken black jeans and ripped them below the knees, creating cutoff shorts. Another bandanna, this one purple, encircled his brow, while a black muscle shirt and blood red sunglasses, coupled with the shotgun he had, made him one of the most threatening figures there.

Julio, not surprisingly, had gone crazy with his clothes. A white muscle shirt, blue jeans, and, get this, a sombrero were his selection. When everyone had asked why the sombrero, he'd just grinned and said that they would all see later.

Mikhail, however, had gone in exactly the opposite direction. A black trench coat, the combat boots, black slacks, a black, short sleeved shirt, and dark sunglasses accented his 'nightly style.' It was a wonder he didn't pass out from the heat.

Julio stood back up, cramming a few more magazines he had looted into his waistband, and exclaimed "Well, I think that's both sound and crazy logic."

"Says the crazy kid." Mikhail muttered.

Julio ignored him, continuing "I mean, Interpol's sure to be so scared that they'll send the SWAT teams after us now."

"So what?" Sly scoffed, jamming a fresh clip into his Uzi and pulling back the cocking pin. The sound of the gun racking the new clip betrayed Sly's thoughts about Interpol sending the SWAT team.

Mikhail quickly changed the subject, before more shots started flying. "What now, comrades? The police know we're here, Muggshot probably knows we're here. Where can we hide?"

Sly thought for a few seconds, then leaned backwards, looking at something behind Mikhail. After watching for a few seconds, an evil grin spread across his face and he turned to the others, saying "Boys, what do you see behind that shoe store over there?"

Julio, Mikhail, Murray looked to where he was indicating. A large, bone-shaped sign that read _"The Boneyard"_, stretched into the sky.

Murray frowned and remarked "Muggshot's casino. Why?"

Catching the expression on Sly's face, Mikhail did a double-take on the casino, then turned back to Sly and said "_Nyet!_ That's crazy, comrade! You're thinking that we-"

"Stay at Muggshot's place, yes," said Sly, taking Mikhail by the arm and indicating that Julio and Murray follow. "It'll be the last place he'll think of. Trust me, it can't go wrong."

(MUHAHAHAHA!!! I ACTUALLY DID IT!! HAHAHAHAH!!!)


	21. Fall To Pieces

(A/N: Heya, guys! I decided to slip in another song for this chapter. I heard this from my sister's stereo and felt that it just seemed to fit. Enjoy!)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Tampico, Mexico**

**6:11 am**

The _Orca_ was a flurry of activity as the current crew members hurried to dump things overboard. Things like tables, chairs, pots and pans, crates, ammunition that wouldn't fit in the captain's cabin, all went overboard in their desperation to lighten the ship of the required seventy pounds. Bentley's laptop was sitting in his lap, monitoring the weight as items went off. Once or twice he had to reposition the computer so that it wouldn't slide off his legs.

Marty, having injected himself with a painkiller, was hobbling around on Bentley's prosthesis, helping out as much as he could. It was rather odd when your leg touched the ground and you expected to feel the contact in your foot, but instead only felt more pressure on the top half. The first time Marty stood with the metallic appendage, it had just felt so wrong. Now, however, it felt like…well, like his leg was still there. At times, his imagination supplied the feelings for his missing foot, and now, it seemed as though he'd never lost that limb. It had taken some getting used to, but Marty finally just ignored the thing. The first time he had put the leg on and fallen over, thrashing from pain and trying to keep his balance, seemed like a dream now.

Marty had exchanged the only piece of his clothing that had survived, his battered, blood-stained jeans, for some clothes out of the captain's cabin. They were a little tight, but at least they worked. A new muscle shirt, which popped a few stitches as Marty pulled it on, another pair of blue jeans, the pockets of which were too small to fit his hands into, some old cowboy boots that seemed already stretched and fit his foot decently, a pair of gloves that he'd had to tear the fingers off of to make fit, and, to top off the new outfit, a weathered, old, black Stetson. The first time Marty observed himself in the mirror, he had to admit that he could pass for a Texan. At least the captain had clothes that were somewhere around his size.

Now, the gangs were down to the final minutes before they were to launch the ship and get "Operation Wave Rider," as Bentley called it, under way. Marty was standing at the starboard bow gunwale, that is, the front right side of the ship. The water just looked so pleasant right now, he could see his reflection, even from about twenty feet up. He looked over to his right and spotted Dimitri, about two hundred feet away, smoking a cigarette. Right about now, Marty considered having one himself. The equine sighed and looked back to the water, shifting his weight back onto his left leg. The painkiller was starting to wear off now, and the stump of his leg was starting to get sore.

"What's that like?"

The voice was soft and quiet, but Marty still jumped in shock. He whirled around, hand going for the gun that he knew wasn't there, and forced himself to take a breath as he spotted Caroline, standing right behind him. As soon as his heartbeat returned to normal, he asked, breathlessly, "What's what like?"

_I looked away  
Then I look back at you  
You try to say  
The things that you can't undo  
If I had my way  
I'd never get over you  
Today's the day  
I pray that we make it through _

Make it through the fall  
Make it through it all

_And I don't wanna fall to pieces  
I just want to sit and stare at you  
I don't want to talk about it  
And I don't want a conversation  
I just want to cry in front of you  
I don't want to talk about it  
Cuz I'm in Love With you_

Caroline walked up and leaned on the gunwale next to him, still looking at him.

"Missing a leg. My uncle fought in Vietnam, and he never got that sort of injury."

Marty sighed and looked back into the water, a glum look on his face. Caroline, catching on, hurriedly said "Sorry. Stupid question."

Marty laughed gently, but didn't smile, commenting "No, it's okay. You're curious. It's just that…well, I'm not ready to talk about it yet."

Caroline nodded, understanding. There were just times when an individual just had to keep to themselves. Marty looked back at her for a second before taking note of something; he'd told her all about him, and he knew almost nothing about her. He frowned, thinking that this might be as good a time as any to ask, since they weren't going anywhere.

"Hey, what about you?"

"Hmm? What about me?"

"What about…well, your life. Your past, mostly. I'm curious about who I'm-" Marty caught himself in time and continued, rather rushed "Who I'm traveling with."

She looked at him suspiciously, making Marty sure that she wasn't deceived. She could tell he was hiding something.

_"And I know what it is. Now, to make him stop hiding it!"_ the Labrador thought to herself.

Caroline smiled and brushed a strand of blonde hair that had come loose out of her face. Marty watched her with hidden fascination, wishing that he could be the one pulling the rouge strand away.

"Well, my mother was British, brother to my uncle. My father, slightly surprisingly, was a Staffordshire Bull Terrier."

Marty blinked and frowned in disbelief. SHE was a hybrid of species too? She continued, however, before he could do anything else.

"They met in Montreal, Canada. My mother was on a business trip for Interpol, and my father had been stationed in Portsmouth by the Queen's Army. He was part of the 23rd Armored, drove a tank, and had been on leave from Portsmouth, where his and many other forces were sitting in preparation for a launch to South America. Britain had many colonies on the Falkland Islands, and hostilities between them and the Argentinean government made Parliament paranoid. My father was in a pub, having a few drinks with his friends, when he spotted my mother across the street. Several of his friends also saw her, and they began making bets about who would be able to seduce her. Almost all of them failed, but my father didn't get into it at all. Instead, he tracked her down to her apartment and apologized for his friends' behavior. My mother was touched, and they became friends. They stuck together for a few days, up until my father had to leave to go back to Portsmouth. Even then, he and my mother still kept in touch. When the Falkland war erupted a year later, my father was shipped out with his division, but he and my mother still wrote letters to each other. By now, they were deeply in love. My father, early in the war, managed to single-handedly infiltrate and blow up an enemy fuel and ammo depot when he got separated from the rest his division. Of course, mind you, he had a tank and all, but the higher ups still praised him. For that, he got a promotion to Captain and a two month leave. Of course, he chose Portsmouth. From there, he went back to my mother. By the time he left, she as pregnant with me, and they were engaged."

A forlorn looked settled on the canine's face.

"Of course, he didn't return after that. He was killed in action when an enemy artillery shell came down on his tank, which was leading his division towards Stanley, the capital of Falkland Islands, during the final assault."

_  
You're the only one,  
I'd be with till the end  
When I come undone  
You bring me back again  
Back under the stars  
Back into your arms_

_And I don't wanna fall to pieces  
I just want to sit and stare at you  
I don't want to talk about it  
And I don't want a conversation  
I just want to cry in front of you  
I don't want to talk about it  
Cuz I'm in Love With you_

Marty frowned slightly, shifting his weight onto his prosthetic leg since his real one was going numb.

"What about your mother?"

Caroline turned back to him, a small smile on his face, but sadness in her eyes.

"She died during childbirth."

Marty was taken aback, slightly. "Oh…I'm sorry."

"I've managed to cope." She replied, standing up straight and looking out to the sea. "Uncle took me in, started me of in law enforcement when I was sixteen. Of course, then I was only his secretary. When I hit seventeen, one year from graduating out of high school, I decided that enough was enough, and applied for Oxford University." She smiled again. "I got in and graduated six months ago. I was a weapons scientist, assigned to Weapons Research and Development. My first experiment was to design a shotgun that could fire further and more powerfully. Unfortunately, Shuker had begun his war with the police by then, so it wasn't really that surprising that one day, when I come back to my lab, my prototype is gone. They took it out in the field, untested. A man lost his arm there. Since then, Interpol's faith in scatterguns has steadily gone downhill."

_Wanna know who you are  
Wanna know where to start  
I wanna know what this means _

Wanna know how you feel  
Wanna know what is real  
I wanna know everything, everything

Caroline turned back to Marty, expecting him to be looking out to sea, not paying attention and lost in his thoughts, but instead, she found him staring at her, his eye-lids half-closed, a small smile on his face. Caroline blinked a few times.

Their faces were so close.

_And I don't wanna fall to pieces  
I just want to sit and stare at you  
I don't want to talk about it  
And I don't want a conversation  
I just want to cry in front of you  
I don't want to talk about it  
Cuz I'm in Love With you_

She could see a scar over his eyebrow, hidden in his reddish-brown hair, and he could see the different layers of her chocolate eyes. Slowly, the distance between their lips began to close.

_I'm in Love With you_

Caroline's eyelids closed halfway, her head canting to the side slowly, lips parted slightly.

_Cuz I'm in Love With you_

She looked into his eyes and saw passion and longing etched in every millimter. She had no doubt it was what was in her mind and eyes too.

_I'm in Love With you_

Slowly, ever so slowly, their lips met, and for that brief moment, all of the harbor, hell, all the world seemed frozen. Caroline could feel joy, passion, longing, and ecstasy leaking out of her as she slowly moved her velvety lips against his rough and weathered ones, memorizing his taste, his texture, everything about those lips. They opened, slightly, and his tongue ran along her lips slightly, begging for entrance.

_I'm in Love With you_

She smiled, slightly, opening her mouth to allow him in, all the while feeling his arms wrap around her waist as she put hers around his neck, pulling him in and deepening the kiss. One thing was running through both their minds; _Oh, my god, I must be dreaming!_

Fifty meters away, the coyote sniper was watching them through binoculars, his rifle leaning against the railing of the fire escape. He had, however, no intention of firing at them, for his mouth hung open as he recognized _her_; Caroline Newkirk, the niece of the Chief in Paris. Missing posters with her face had gone up everywhere in every Interpol Headquarters; New York, Mexico City, London, Sydney-ALL the major cities.

The coyote began groping around for his handset, still watching them.

_"Caramba, McCoy. I'd say you have good taste, but you're deep in the shit pile now."_

Finally, he brought the handset up to his ear.

"Oi! _Amigo!_ It's me! Listen, I'm coming back down, get on the horn to HQ and tell them I've got some VERY interesting news for them!"

He listened for a few seconds, then said "_Si._ Out."

He was just about to go down the ladder when he took one last look at Marty and Caroline, then slid down the ladder, a slight smile on his face with one thought in mind ;_ "Promotion to Detective, here I come!"_

**Mexico City**

**7:29 am**

Sly flopped back on the couch, sighing in relief. He hadn't even bothered to hang up his padded jacket, and it simply lay on the floor. Murray had unlaced and kicked off his combat boots and literally sank into an overstuffed armchair, a broad grin on his face as he leaned back and closed his eyes. Julio leapt up next to Sly, picking up the TV's remote and flipping through the channels, whistling at the widescreen plasma set. Mikhail, having properly hung up his trench coat, was rummaging in the refrigerator for something cold to drink, and came up, grinning, with a Coors Lite. He took a few gulps, then sighed as well, shutting the door and sitting down in another chair.

Unbeknownst to all of them, however, they were being watched by a certain…individual. Muggshot scratched his chin as he watched through the security monitors. Vinny, being the loyal dog that he was, had fetched the gang lord as soon as he could. It didn't take long for a plan to formulate in Muggshot's head. He turned back to the Doberman, who was smoking a new cigarette, and said "Watch them for a few days. Send them a warning. If they don't clear out by next week-" Muggshot finished with a finger across the throat.

(Sorry about the rushed ending, but I really wanted to get the first part in. I finally did it! I wrote a love scene all on my own! HELLS YEAH!!)


	22. A Regular Day in Mexico

(A/N: Due to everyone's begging me, I have decided that, after a year of inactivity, this fic is back in business! That's right, revived!)**  
**

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Tampico, Mexico**

**6:17 am**

Now, they just stood at the railing, looking out to the sea, his arm around her shoulders, but gently, loosely, as if he was afraid that if he held her too hard, she would shatter. The sunrise glimmered off the water, throwing reflections into both of their eyes. It seemed as though this moment couldn't be spoiled; except it was.

"Oi! Marty! Caroline! Get your friggin' asses out here, PRONTO! We still gotta lotta work to do!"

Marty groaned, his head suddenly hanging down, Stetson in danger of dropping into the water beneath, and muttered, icily, "Aw, c'mon ma, just lemme sleep five more minutes."

Caroline giggled and pulled his hat back a little, saying "C'mon, cowboy. They're going to get suspicious if we don't."

Marty brought his head up to look her in the eye, skeptically, before saying "Yeah, and they'll be suspicious if we do. I'm not an idiot, they'll know something's up."

Caroline smiled sadly, shaking her head slightly and saying "Marty, Marty, Marty…Marty. They already know something's up. I'm not an idiot either, but I've got to say that they've noticed us acting very odd around each other."

Marty's jaw dropped slightly, his eyebrows furrowed, and he was silent for a moment, before responding "I knew that."

Giggling again, Caroline pulled the hat down into his face this time, kissing his cheek before saying "C'mon Captain Ahab, let's get going."

Marty rolled his eyes, adjusting his hat once again before following her, his overlarge hand gripping her small slender one loosely, back towards the rest of the gang, who were currently finishing throwing the last of the unnecessary cargo overboard. Carmelita was currently pushing the final extra ammunition crate over the railing when she caught sight of the couple. Her eyes darted to their clasped hands, and a small smile appeared on her face, only to be obliterated by a scowl. She finished tipping the crate over the rail, sending it to the water with a loud splash, before turning to them and saying "Heh. 'Bout time you two got here. We've nearly got everything finished."

Marty frowned, saying "Wait a minute. When I went for a break, there was still a lot more cargo."

Carmelita grinned, saying "We thought so too. Turns out that we found some things we just couldn't dump."

Marty frowned again, pausing to consider what those 'things' might be before asking the question "Such as?"

* * *

"You're just as nuts as me." 

Marty had gotten his answer, thirty seconds later, when he'd followed Carmelita into the hold to inspect their startling prize. Sitting in front of him, still in their crate, were three Italian made FN Minimis. Another crate beside them held about 20 box magazines, each holding 200 5.56 caliber rounds. If they fixed those to the railing on the bow, they would be able to treat anything in their way to a machine gun opera without worrying too much about burning through ammo.

He picked one up, cradling it gently as though it were a baby and said, voice full of glee, "I WANT one!"

Carmelita was still smirking as she tapped him on the shoulder, motioning him over to another crate and saying "If you love that so much, why not look over here."

With a small tug, she turned the stallion on the spot, and his jaw dropped as his eyes fell on the only two crates left. One of them, filled with padding, contained two Russian made RPG launchers, already fitted with rockets. The seconds crate contained the munitions for the aforementioned explosive projectile launching mechanisms. In short, the second crate had about ten or twelve high explosive rockets packed into the padding.

Marty stared at the munitions for a few seconds, looking slightly like a fish out of water before he asked "Was the good captain transporting anything else we weren't aware of?"

This was where Bentley and Penelope came onto the scene, Bentley shaking his head and responding "That's the unfortunate part. It doesn't look like it at all. Remember what the sailors were using? Handguns and shotguns. Mostly, that would work for fending off boarders, but, unfortunately, these weren't your average boarders. We found several sailors' bodies around the machine guns' crate, indicating at least a few of them knew about the stash and tried to get to it when things went bad. We only found the rockets by chance. There's nothing anywhere else."

Marty's face fell, and he muttered "Dammit. We could use the extra firepower."

Cue everyone else rolling their eyes and Carmelita saying, sarcastically, "Yeah, it's not like you don't have your own personal armory."

Marty's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly, there came a yell from the top deck.

"HOLY CRAP! YOOZA STUPID CRACKER-BOXES BETTER GET UP HERE! WE GOTS THE FOUR-ONE ON US!"

It took everyone a few seconds to work out that 'four-one' actually meant 'five-o.'

However, when everyone did realize it, they all started scrambling for guns. Immediately, Marty took charge.

"Alright, let's go! I want the Minimis up top, hooked on the railing. Haul up one of the RPGs if you have to! SMGs and assault rifles preferred, leave the bolt actions in the bay for less weight. Who here has the most experience piloting a ship like this?"

To no surprise, Carmelita's hand was the only one that went up.

"Congratulations, you've just become skipper. Start this thing up and let's get a move on. Ladies and gentlemen, we are leaving now, whether the police like it or not!"

* * *

**The Boneyard Casino, Mexico City**

**6:24 am**

"You can't be serious, comrade."

"I'm as serious as possible."

"But we have a small problem: we have no money."

Sly gave Mikhail an irritated look, then asked "Mikhail, did you think that would actually stop me?"

The panther looked Sly in the eye, as much as he could with two pairs of sunglasses in the way, and sighed, saying "Not really. Still worth a try, I suppose."

Sly grinned, taking Mikhail by the shoulder and leading him into a section of the casino called 'The Den,' saying "Like I said, this'll work. It's perfect, I've done this sort of thing before, I know what kind of machines he uses. This'll be the perfect revenge. First, we clean him out, hit him here it hurts, then we take him out, and this time, he ain't just going to a cell again. C'mon, what could go wrong?"

Little did he know of the dog hidden up on a balcony high above their heads watching them through the scope of his Arctic Warfare Magnum sniper rifle, grinning toothily and smoking a cigar that drifted ashes down onto his blue tuxedo.

* * *

**Tampico, Mexico**

**6:29 am**

"Oi! Super-horse, man! They trying to flank us!"

"They can't flank us, you idiot, we're in the water!"

Marty turned away from the lizard, pumping another burst of high caliber rounds into another police officer who tried to close the distance to the ship. The coyote's bullet-proof SWAT armor didn't stop the rounds, and they ripped through the Kevlar like a knife through rice paper. The other officers had seen the wisdom of sticking close to their armored car, particularly after a decisive grenade from Bentley's makeshift launcher had blasted six of their number down. The regular officers, who had arrived in standard cruisers, were also taking cover behind their cars, blind-firing their lethal hardware over the tops. Idiots.

Dimitri pointed into the water on his side with his MP50 sub-machine gun, yelling "NO! Not them! **THEM!**"

Just the way the iguana said it made Marty stop firing long enough to look over his shoulder, and he didn't like what he saw.

"Patrol boats! Starboard side!"

Quickly, he scrambled over to the other side, only to be intercepted by a salamander clambering up over the railing, swinging a pistol up to aim at his head. Marty had no doubt that the bullets were waterproof, and as such, that made simply knocking the lizard over the railing again a useless strategy.

Whatever. It only occurred to him briefly. Instead, he shredded the salamander's torso without a second thought, and he folded like a wet paper sack. A bloody, wet, paper sack.

Kicking the falling corpse out of the way, Marty stumbled on his bad leg, almost falling over the railing himself, which was his saving grace, as another salamander had just fired at him, missing by a hair. Marty responded with yet another burst of fire, knocking this boarder back over the rail in a spray of blood. Marty, thanking his luck, managed to push himself off the railing, stumbling slightly before yelling "Boarders! Boarders!"

"I KNOW!" came the response from Caroline, who socked another of the slimy policemen in the face, throwing him overboard after stripping him of his pistol. Marty, at first, was confused as to why she didn't just shoot them. Sure, the Webley was old, but it was still plenty powerful.

And then it occurred to him that none of the 'frogmen' so to speak, were firing on her. Instead, they were rushing to get in close, get to close quarters, and the realization hit him in the face. She wasn't shooting them for the same reason they weren't killing her. She was a cop, trying not to kill her own kind, and they were cops who were obviously trying to bring her back in! Well, like hell he'd let that happen.

Another boarder brought him out of his daze, a big komodo dragon, this time, smacking him in the back of the head with the stock of his shotgun, sending Marty falling to the deck. His vision swam red, and he found it hard to breathe all of a sudden. He tried to get up when a foot planted itself on his back, pinning him down again. He felt the barrel of the shotgun being put to his head, felt through that more than head the lizard's muscular arm working the pump…right before another rattle of gunfire alleviated the pressure.

Marty managed to get on his knees, Minimi up to blaze the bastard down, only to find him being hosed with lead from Dimitri's own gun. The large body fell to the deck, and Dimitri put an extra round into the komodo dragon's head just for extra measure. Marty, having finally managed to regain his breath, wheezed "Thanks. I owe you one."

"No problemo, bro. Although, I will be collecting that in the near future." Dimitri replied as he shot another officer, point blank in the face, with his Luger.

Marty simply nodded, managed to regain his feet, and rushed once more to the aid of Caroline, who really didn't look like she needed it, managing to hold her own against even a pair of komodos that had approached her from either side. With a burst of speed, Marty vaulted over the cargo hatch in the middle of the deck, firing burst after burst as he went, ripping one of the large lizards apart, then landing boots first on the other's face, knocking him back over the rail. Caroline spluttered indignantly as Marty turned, blowing invisible smoke from his gun and saying "Need some help, sweetheart?"

She huffed, snarling "No, I certainly did NOT! I had it handled!"

A bullet snatching Marty's Stetson from his head quickly ended the argument, bringing the couple back to the gunfight.

Bentley and Penelope had been getting some throwing practice in, tossing grenades like baseball pitchers into the police boats, blasting them, literally, out of the water, plugging up the 'frogmen' from reaching the ship, which was still too close to the dock for comfort.

Noting this, Marty, ran for the bridge, yelling as he went "Godammit, Carmelita, when are we gonna get moving?!" He went through the door, only to have a very angry vixen turn on him and yell "JUST AS SOON AS I GET THIS TO WORK, DUMBASS! I'VE NEVER PILOTED SOMETHING THIS SIZE!"

After that, she went to muttering foul things under her breath, and Marty decided it was the best time to make a hasty exit. He ran into Bentley, who was just trying to figure out how to mount the steps, and instead had to be helped back into his wheelchair by Marty, before he said, calmly, "Just wanted to let you know, we're out of grenades."

Marty stared at him, dumbfounded, wondering how the hell he was so nonplussed about this, before shaking his head and saying "Doesn't matter. I just got an idea."

-----------------

Back behind the armored car, a bobcat, dressed in full body armor, hurriedly reloaded his AK, waiting for some of the fire to die down so he could get his chance. Just when he was ready to crawl under the car and try to hit them from a prone position, the shooting suddenly stopped. The bobcat leaned around the bullet-chipped corner, focusing on the ship.

The engines had started, and the craft was laboriously turning away. However, there was no one on board.

Strange.

The other officers were also peering around their cover, trying to find something, anything, that could explain this oddity.

Wait, there! There was a flash of movement at the door leading to the cargo hold. The bobcat and every other officer brought up their weapons, but even the best trained soldier couldn't have stopped what happened next.

With a _fwoosh_, a stream of white smoke erupted from the doorway, propelling the rocket straight towards the cab of the armored car.

No one even got the time to scream before it detonated.

-----------------

Marty watched the explosion engulf the pier, as a chain reaction lit up and blasted the other cars, scorching the cement and splintering the wooden dock, sending the structure crashing down into the water. He let his breath out though his lips as the _Orca_ finally began turning in earnest, and muttered "Well, it's no Julio, but it'll have to do for now."

* * *

**The Boneyard Casino, Mexico City**

**6:52 am**

The wheels of the slot machine all slid down on the picture of Muggshot's face, dinging for the fourteenth time and pouring a pile of pesos into the small tray on the side.

Sly grinned, turning to Mikhail and saying "See? It's all about how you hit it. You can actually make a fortune at one of these places that expect you to lose all your money."

Mikhail shook his head, rubbing his eyes with one hind under his sunglasses. Of course Sly would know how to rig the machines. They had already acquired several pocketfuls of coins, and as long as Sly was going at it, it didn't look like stopping.

Sly leaned around, looking for the third and fourth members of their party, muttering "Where…ah, there's Murray."

Of course, the hippo was at the bar, arm wrestling for cash and winning damn near every time. The bar counter was starting to crack under where he slammed every one of his opponent's fists, and Murray was loving the glory. Of course, the trickle of money was also very pleasing as well.

Mikhail looked over his shoulder, towards where Julio was playing poker at another table, and cheating at it, of course. He wasn't as good as Bentley, but his skill was proficient enough that he won more times than he lost, and a neat little pile of coins was sitting in front of him. No doubt about it, if they kept this up, they would clean Muggshot out in no time.

"Why don't you go over to the Blackjack tables, at least? Here, take some cash to start yourself off."

Mikhail sighed again, accepting the coins Sly offered him and heading towards the tables.

---------------------

Up on the balcony, Vinny's finger tightened on the trigger and he centered the crosshairs on the panther's head. Then, just as quickly, the digit relaxed. Wait a week. That was what Muggshot had said. But the second that week was up, that panther's head was going to be splattered all over the carpet.

(You're just going to love the next few chapters. Now, review! I command it!)


	23. Not Very Sure, Can't Get Unsurer

(A/N: Now you guys have made me fall in love with writing again! Well, you better be happy I decided to post another chapter this soon! P )**  
**

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Tampico, Mexico**

**12:49 pm**

**Day 2 on the **_**Rio Panuco**_

Carmelita stood at the wheel of the _Orca_, steering the ship with one hand, munching on a sloppily made sandwich with the other. They had been chugging steady down the _Rio Panuco_ for around a day and a half now, making even greater progress than McCoy had said they would, and the best part was that they hadn't even run into anything remotely resembling a dam or a bridge that would need to be destroyed. For now, it seemed his plan was holding steady, and she had even been able to lock the wheel and get a few hours sleep herself, so calm was the river. She was thinking about doing the same again, wanting to be rested up for the assault.

Still, it did bother her that they were shooting police officers. These men were just like her not so long ago, and they were dying in front of her eyes in scores. She hadn't actually killed one yet, merely wounded two back on the docks. She didn't feel cut out for the criminal side of the world._ 'Although, if it only gets as bad as this, it might not be so bad.'_

_------------------- _

Remove the magazine, set it aside. Take a greased rag, wipe the exterior of the casing. Remove exterior parts. Yuck, look at that grime. How did this weapon even fire at all? Take a new rag, start cleaning the interior of the gun. Reassemble gun, put the rag aside, test the action. Smooth, very smooth. Put gun to shoulder, take a bead on nothing in particular. Sights are okay. Could use some adjusting.

Marty used only the most remote comparison to thought as he completed the now familiar task of cleaning the Minimi. Though it had been packed away, either the sailors didn't know how to clean their guns properly, or the days at sea weren't good for the gunmetal. Most likely both.

Marty brought the machine gun down from his shoulder, closing the action again. It clacked shut with a hollow sound after finding no round to chamber. Marty sighed, looking out to the water. That sound was all too comforting to him. There was no doubt about it: he was gun crazy. There had been a man Marty had hunted down, had been in charge of Taloreso's transportation ring, who had laughed in Marty's face, asking him if, when this was all over, he would be able to put his guns down and leave them there. Instead of gracing him with an answer, Marty had simply planted a round between the man's eyes. However, that spoke volumes to Marty himself.

So absorbed was he in the task that usually robbed him of all comprehensive thought that he didn't Caroline's footsteps along the deck until she came to stand right next to him, watching silently. As soon as he had put the gun aside, she tilted her head and asked "Penny for your thoughts?"

Marty's head snapped up, at first anticipating an ambush, but then realizing it was only his…he wasn't sure how to think of Caroline now. Girlfriend? Lover? He'd never felt like this before.

Instead of telling her what was really going on inside his head, he shrugged and replied "Just thinking."

Caroline rolled her eyes and pulled up another chair, sitting next to him as she quipped "Oh, really? I couldn't tell."

Marty smiled and leaned against the rail he had, a few seconds ago, propped his legs up against and cleaned the weapon now sitting beside him. Or, leg, singular. He wasn't sure if a prosthetic could be considered a real leg.

Suddenly, another thought occurred to him. He turned to Caroline and said "Hey, you know Interpol, right?"

Caroline's eyebrows went up and she responded "Sure, but it's not like I actually worked for them or anything."

Marty chuckled and continued "Alright, I get it, no more stupid questions, but what I meant was, you know how they gather intelligence?"

Caroline frowned, looking out at the water as she thought before responding "Yes, I suppose. Anything from spies to satellites. Why?"

Marty wet his lips and asked "Any idea how Interpol could've been there at exactly the same time and place we were? It was a bona fide ambush in the making, and if it looks like a rat and smells like a rat…or, how about right when we were about to leave? They knew, and they sent a last ditch effort to stop us."

Caroline's mouth fell open slightly, and she voiced the same thought that had hit them both. "Do you think there's a spy among us?" Marty shrugged. "Who knows? I'd back my boys even if Jesus came down here and said it was one of them. I don't think the Cooper Gang would rat each other out either. Their a pretty tight knit group, almost like family. No, the one I suspect most is the lizard."

"Dimitri? Why?"

Marty shrugged. "Well, he and the Cooper Gang have butted heads before. Only makes sense he'd hold a grudge, no matter what else they did for him afterwards. I know I would."

Caroline's eyes narrowed slightly. "You think he'd rat us out to Interpol?"

"In a heartbeat as long as they were paying him more than we were."

Caroline, turned back to the water, processing that thought. "But…we aren't paying him anything-"

Marty heard it before he saw it. After spending half his life around various guns, the sounds they made had imprinted a tattoo in his head. Now, that tattoo was telling him that something was dreadfully wrong.

And suddenly, it clicked.

"GET DOWN!" he yelled, tackling Caroline around the waist as a loud humming sound fill the air. Suddenly, bullets started tracing a path along the deck, past where Marty and Caroling had been sitting, heading back towards the wheelhouse. The windows weren't bulletproof, and shattered easily. Marty didn't know whether Carmelita had survived or not, but what was important right now was distracting that gunfire.

Getting up off Caroline, he yelled, over the heavy gunfire, "GO TO THE WHEELHOUSE! CHECK ON HER!" She nodded, and started along at a crouch, moving as fast as she could. Meanwhile, Marty, doing the same, awkwardly, thanks to his leg, had gone in the other direction, grabbing the Minimi, thankful he'd had the right mind to leave a fully loaded magazine right next to it. Loading it, he scanned the skies. It took him a few seconds to find the chopper, but find it he did. It was a US Army standard Huey gunship, retired from the Vietnam War. However, it wasn't painted up in jungle green, as most of the US were. Instead, this one was black, with two bones crossed over each other on the door.

"Muggshot." Marty muttered with venom in his voice. Of course. Interpol had failed to stop them, so he was going to try himself. But where the hell had he gotten a thirty-year old chopper?

At that moment, his thoughts were put on hold by the large, triple-barreled M197 Gatling opening up again, pitting the ship with holes that were heading straight for him. Marty took off at a run, firing bursts back every now and then. He knew taking out the chopper itself on his own was suicidal. Instead, he concentrated on firing towards the gunner, hoping that once he took him out, they could get an RPG up here, or force the pilot to retreat.

As the Huey flew over the ship, Marty managed to get one single lucky shot, nailing the gunner in the forehead. However, the body that fell out surprised him greatly. Instead of a dog, as Muggshot was known to recruit, this body was that of a zebra, dressed in the black fatigues of a Special Forces member.

"What the hell…" he muttered, looking back up at the Huey. Now it was at a different angle, he got a better look at the pilot, and wasn't surprised to see a cheetah at the controls, another beside him undoubtedly monitoring the radio. Currently, there was a hyena trying to get back on the gun that the zebra had been manning, and Marty could see movement in the chopper itself that suggested an entire squad. All were dressed in Spec Ops fatigues. _'What the hell…'_ he thought again, seconds before the gatling lit up again and he was forced to duck.

------------------

Caroline managed to get safely into the wheelhouse, listening to the continuous gunfire of the helicopter and Marty's own gun outside. As long as he was still firing, he was still alive. However, in his weakened condition, she doubted he could keep this fight up very long. Marty was strong, yes, incredibly powerful even, but he couldn't take a hailstorm of lead.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she crept up into the wheelhouse, pushing the door open carefully. The place was a damn mess. The windows had been shattered and everything else had been shredded by the 20 mm bullets, save for one thing: Carmelita herself. She was crouching by the wheel, some of which had been chipped and splinted by the barrage, but still thankfully in working order, clutching her P229 and cursing to herself under her breath in Spanish. The second she spotted Caroline, she let out a sigh of relief.

"Finally! _Santa Maria, Madre de Dios,_ I thought you two had been killed! Get over here!"

Caroline did as she was told, dropping down and crossing over to Carmelita. As soon as she arrived, the gunfire came to an abrupt halt, and they both peered over the edge of the window to see the Huey fly over the ship, dropping the black clad body of the zebra gunner. Though they both recognized the uniform, they were currently trying to find Marty. Finally, they both spotted him, standing near the bow, gun in hand and staring up at the chopper. Undoubtedly, he'd figured out for himself. Suddenly, the gun started up again, and Marty rolled to avoid the large bullets storming towards him. Both women in the wheelhouse looked up at the Huey, determining that it was not, in fact, an Interpol helicopter, and Carmelita lined up the cockpit with her gun, muttering "_Adios, feo hijo de perra._"

Just as she was about to pull the trigger, Caroline grabbed her hand and pulled the gun back down.

"What the hell are you thinking? They think we're dead up here! Wait until they're actually close enough for us to do something!"

They both looked up at the battle again, just in time to see Marty fire another burst, when suddenly, the large cargo hatch, smack dab in the middle of the deck, split underneath him. The combination of the bullets pummeling a line along after him and his weight running back and forth across had served to weakened it like a can opener attacking a tin can of soup. Of course, the Huey hovered over the holes, the gunner firing into the hatch in circles, trying to increase his chances of actually hitting Marty. Just as Caroline began to fear that he couldn't have escaped that kind of barrage, the door down to the cargo bay on the port side swung open, and Marty came hustling out, looking severely winded, toting an RPG. Perhaps the soldiers, mercenaries, goons, whatever they were, were too concentrated on trying to eliminate him that they didn't see, but suddenly, with a resounding _**BOOM**_, the Huey exploded, sending shrapnel, bodies, everything everywhere. The burning wreck of the gunship landed squarely on the spot where Marty and Caroline had had their conversation, tipping the ship and ripping through the railing before sliding off into the _Rio Panuco_.

Looking very tired and leaning against the door, Marty waved up at the wheelhouse with the empty RPG, yelling "That's…that's not something you see everyday."

* * *

**The Boneyard Casino, Mexico City**

**1:54 pm**

"And that's Blackjack," said the disgruntled dealer as Mikhail, smiling slightly, raked up his pile of pesos. Sly was right, he was good at this game! Meanwhile, the others were still raking in the cash, and it was undoubtedly true that they were starting to get attention. Mikhail decided it was time to get the others to leave.

However, as he got up and started moving towards the poker tables, another figure slid up next to him, sticking a pistol into his side and whispering "Not so fast. We'll take a small side trip."

Mikhail had to admit, this man had the drop on him. And so, he turned, letting the man lead him away. They slipped past a guard, whom the mysterious gunman nodded to, and into a maintenance hallway before Mikhail's captor clubbed him in the back of the neck. Not anticipating the blow, Mikhail went down, rubbing his neck while his captor, a zebra, it looked like, kicked him in the side and snarled "Alright, listen up. Muggshot says you've got a week, but Taloreso calls that bullshit." He had a faint accent that Mikhail couldn't place until the man swore, identifying him as African. "So, we're going to be taking you down, here and now. The rest of our squad is already dealing with your comrades, so all we have to do," the zebra was now screwing a silencer onto his pistol, turning it to point at Mikhail's head and finishing his sentence with "Is eliminate you. Now-"

Before the man could continue, shot rang out in the casino, and the zebra looked back towards the door, saying "What the-"

Mikhail seized the chance, drawing his own gun and shooting the man in the back of the head. His captor went down without a sound, and Mikhail gathered up his ammo, as well as the silencer, before stepping back into the casino. Sly, Murray, and Julio were all engaged in gun fights with about a dozen other men, dressed at the zebra had been, in black fatigues. Mikhail saw other zebras, hyenas and even a cheetah or two, and reasoned that these were mercenaries. They were certainly toting advanced fire power, in the form of Five-seven 5.56 pistols, P90 SMGs of the same caliber and a few Xm8 assault rifles of M16 power.

It didn't matter. Mikhail wouldn't have cared if they were toting a nuke. He simply drew his own pistols and started firing.

Over at the bar, Murray blasted the face off a hyena with his Spas-12. Obviously, the arm wresting match had gone well, as the bullets that zipped over the bar, Murray's cover, took a few pesos with them every now and then. Sly was bobbing between the slot machines, emptying his Uzis into the mercenaries, and Julio had the sense to tip over a poker table and blast away with his AK.

Between the four of them, they whittled down the Spec Ops men until the last one, a cheetah, finally fell over, having been hit by all four of them at once.

Silence rang throughout the casino, and the four all crept out from their cover.

"Who the hell were those chumps?" Murray asked, poking one with his shotgun.

"And why are they dressed like this?" asked Julio, veering off subject as usual as he picked up a black glove.

"What happened to you, Mikhail?" Sly asked, slipping his Uzi's into his pockets. Mikhail did the same with his guns, shrugging and saying "Apparently, Taloreso is not happy. He was mentioned by the man who tried to execute me."

A small flurry of confusion lit up the others' faces.

"He also mentioned that there were more of them, after Marty and the others."

Now confusion turned to anger and fear.

"That's it," snarled Sly, pulling his Uzis out once more. "Let's get back to the room guys. Grab whatever weapons and ammo we can. We're going after Muggshot tonight."

(Is this really Muggshot's end? And what are Taleraso's men doing here? Find out! The review button is your friend!)


	24. High Rollers and Hot Lead

(A/N: Alright, due to inspiration, and loss of my Xbox 360, plus my dedication to finishing this great saga, I have revived this fic once more!)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**The **_**Rio Panuco**_

**2:07 am**

**Day 3 on the **_**Rio Panuco**_

Dawn. Or, at least, what could be seen of it through the early morning mists. The _Orca_ slid silently through the water, engines on low power, the sound choked by the mist. On deck, a light tried to poke through the gloom, but could barely be seen by its owner. Dimitri was smoking once again, leaning against the rail, MP5 slung across his back. He was standing watch, ready to alert the ship should anything try and attack them. Ever since the helicopter, Marty had become more vigilant in keeping the ship secure. Every two hours or so, a new person would stand watch with nearly all the heavy weaponry possible on deck. Marty had made sure to teach everything he knew about the Minimis and the RPG to everyone aboard.

Now, however, the river was still, the only sound being the water lapping at the sides of the ship. Dimitri glanced down at his cigarette, contemplating its length, before deciding on taking another puff and simply throwing it over the railing, into the water. It hit the surface and instantly went out, the end giving one last defiant puff.

Something caught Dimitri's ears, and his head came up slowly, viewing the misty skies, trying with his entire ability to place the familiar chopping noise drifting through to him.

And then, suddenly, it clicked.

"You're sure they were helicopters?" Marty questioned as he scanned the skies. Dimitri was at his shoulder, pointing in the direction he'd heard the sound from, remarking "Yo, bro, if'n dem wasn't choppers, ye can go 'head an' pop a move in my noggin, peace?"

Marty turned and frowned at the lizard, briefly, before saying "Dude, why can't you speak regular English? Never mind, look, stay alert up here. Grab an RPG and-"

Marty never finished his statement, however, as a break in the mist revealed a shadowy clump of large shapes barreling down the river overhead, spotlights raking the water.

"Get down!" he snarled, falling to the deck with Dimitri on his heels. The shapes flashed overhead, and for a moment, against all odds, Marty thought the wideness of the river would save them. But then fate defied him, and a single searchlight went straight over the _Orca_, lighting her up like a flare. It lingered for a second, then slipped off as the pack of helicopters pulled away, heading to the north.

Marty stood, frowning, before asking Dimitri "You wouldn't have also caught the symbol on the bottom of that chopper, would you?"

The iguana's face was stuck in a grimace as he replied "Yah, bro…Interpol."

* * *

**The Boneyard Casino, Mexico City**

**2:56 am**

Before the four even had time to turn around, more soldiers filed into the casino, these ones in green and packing more conventional weapons, such as AKs and Uzis. A third wave followed, consisting of Muggshot's crew in black as well, armed to the teeth with pistols and shotguns. Within seconds, the entire casino had been filled with an army that had, for lack of a better phrase, come out of nowhere. Without any other choice, the group was forced to fall back, firing blind shots back at the wave of gangsters and thugs coming at them as they were pressed towards the windows. The Boneyard's main casino sat at the edge of a ravine, which ran around half the city, and the windows that the four were currently rushing for dropped out into it. It would, or course, provide the most opportunistic escape in the history of the Cooper Gang. The thugs would think them splattered on the ground below, and they could simply slip back up to Muggshot.

They kept at it, firing a few rounds, then backing up some through the Boneyard, behind slot machines, bars and columns. Sly was relying on the fact that these new soldiers would probably not try to flank them, would try to concentrate all their firepower from a single direction to drive them out that window.

Sly let of a burst of bullets from his Uzi before yelling at Mikhail "Who the hell are these guys? The ones in green?"

Mikhail let off a few rounds before yelling back "They're from Katurskay's gang, ex-Soviet men. Looks like we have a three way alliance going around the world."

Mikhail was interrupted by a bullet chipping off a piece of plaster from the column he was behind, and the panther dropped to the floor, spitting lead back from his pistols towards the soldiers. Julio quickly moved over and joined him, tossing his sombrero into the air to block his movements. While the AKs and Uzis tore up the hat, Julio ducked low, avoiding the bullets that chewed a path after him. It was too late for the soldiers to correct their aim, however, and Julio made it to the column alongside Mikhail, letting off burst after burst from his AK. A blast and a crash behind them told that Murray had blown out the back window to make way for their escape with his Spas before turning back to rejoin the firefight. By now, the soldiers realized what their plan was, and desperately began charging the group in a suicide attempt to stop them, only to be met by wall after wall of lead. The gangsters in black, their loyalties only fed by money, quickly decided they would be better off running, and deserted the soldiers in green. A Russian Grizzly bear swiftly ducked behind a toppled blackjack table, raising his M1014 shotgun over the edge and emptying the ten round magazine in seconds with the semi-automatic weapon, plastering the gang's hiding place with lead pellets.

Julio went down with a ripped shoulder, yelling "Dammit! I'm clipped!" Swiftly, Mikhail gripped the boy under the shoulder, hefting him up to his feet while providing cover fire in two different directions until his pistols clicked empty. Ducking behind a bar, Mikhail handed a third pistol to Julio, reloading the ones he already had, and the two of them laid down fire into the Russians. Sly and Murray quickly joined them, forcing the Russians into a narrow corridor between the columns and wreckage, making them easy targets from that direction. However, ex-military that they were, they quickly flanked around from the left and right, forcing the group to spread their fire to all directions. Quickly, the Russians began gaining ground once more, moving up to the wreckage that the gang had been using only moments before. Whereas before, when fighting across the open space of the main casino floor through the splintered wreck of the blackjack tables, these hallways, packed with slot machines and video poker stands, gave them more cover, and they began to put their training to good use. A round tore through Murray's ear from an AK, and the hippo roared in frustration, blasting the Russian Roe Deer who had fired the guilty shot in the chest.

"We can't keep going like this! Through the window!" yelled Sly, releasing an ill-aimed burst from his Uzis before leaping for the large, shattered window, only to come up short, gawking in panic. The others turned, staring, their own jaws dropping as they gazed at the flying machines that were suddenly casting their spotlights down at them.

"Aw…you gotta be kidding me!" yelled Sly as he quickly dashed to the side, managing to clear the space before the six Huey helicopters opened up with their M197s ripping through the casino without mercy.

Muggshot's men didn't even aim, simply fired for all they were worth, shredding large caliber, high-velocity rounds through anything in sight. The Russians happened to fall in that list, and were cut down in droves. The gang barely managed to move out of the way, cutting through the Russians who were emerging down a side hallway, luckily managing to find a flight of stairs to escape up on. The Hueys didn't even spot them, so focused were they on shredding the hallways. As the gang dashed through the upper hallways, dragging Julio with them, they heard the gunfire change direction, and Sly pulled the group off into a side hallway, up onto the casino's second floor. This floor made a doughnut ring over the one below, and was lined with only slot machines around the edge. Several other hallways branched off, but Sly was looking for an elevator, which he spotted on the other side of the doughnut.

Judging by the green light, it was still in operation.

"C'mon, let's go," he muttered, scanning the area with his Uzis.

So far, this level was clear, but that could change at any second. However, after seeing no movement, Sly tipped his head forward, and the group moved in, weapons at the ready. However, when they were halfway to the elevator, the roar below of the helicopters, which had died down to a hum, suddenly kicked back up.

Sly peered over the railing, only to pull back, yelling "Holy shit! Hit the floor!"

One of the helicopters had coasted through the shattered window, hovering in the main casino level before coming up to their floor, rotating to face them. Though it was painted black, it wasn't one of Muggshot's Hueys. Instead, they were facing a Taloreso mercenary piloted McDonnell-Douglas attack helicopter, loaded with .50 caliber machine guns and rocket launchers.

Sly pulled his head up, sticking his middle finger up at the attack chopper and yelling "What the hell is this, a freakin' video game?"

His rhetorical question unanswered, Sly dashed towards the elevator, blasting away at the helicopter as it opened up with the .50's, chewing up a path of large bullet holes behind him. However, the pilot had forgotten about the others, and swiftly had to turn around and deal with the other three, who had already split up and started moving around.

"Sly! Get to the elevator! We'll hold this guy off! Get to Muggshot while his men are all coming down here!" yelled Murray, who unloaded a 12-gauge round into the helicopter's bubble windshield. The pilot responded by launching an ill-aimed rocket at the hippo, sending it soaring over his head and into the wall. Sly hesitated by the elevator, yelling "Are you sure?" over the gunfire. "Dude, just go! We got your back here! We'll slip out and get a car secured! Go!" yelled Julio as he emptied his magazine of 9mm rounds into the helicopter. Drawn between four targets, and now having a bullet ridden windshield, the pilot didn't know who to target or where anything was. Instead, he settled for a new method, and rotated on the spot, blind firing everything. Sly ducked as .50 caliber rounds punched the air above him. Fortunately, that was all he had, as he'd already fired all of his rockets.

As the other three emptied rounds into the sitting duck, Sly finally yelled "Pull back if he's too much for you!" and slammed the button on the elevator door.

* * *

**The **_**Rio Panuco**_

**3:14 am**

**Day 3 on the **_**Rio Panuco**_

The watches had changed, and now Marty stood at the bow of the _Orca_, Minimi in hand, pondering on the Interpol choppers from earlier. They were headed north, undoubtedly towards Mexico City. His knowledge of vehicles wasn't as good as his knowledge of firearms, but he had been able to identify the chopper that had flown over as a Sea King, which were strictly transport and rescue helicopters. Obviously, Interpol was moving a lot of men and guns north. Had Sly done something to get their attention? The local police hadn't been spotted since the shootout at the docks, so maybe they'd called in for some heavier firepower from their mother organization. As Marty continued to watch the river, his mind began to wander again. It had been constantly like this ever since his revelation. He longed to find Caroline again, one of the few chinks in his iron hard mentality, find her and discover more about her.

Quickly, he snapped his head back around, trying to stay focused on the edges of the river. He could not afford any distractions right now.

**

* * *

****The Boneyard Casino, Mexico City**

**3:24 am**

**On the High Security Floor**

Sly ran his fingers over another body on the ground, coming across yet another clip of ammunition. Tucking it into his rapidly filling jacket pockets, he stood and examined the security station he'd just blasted through. Since Muggshot had sent nearly all of his men to the helicopters, this normally packed floor had been manned by only five men, and a few bursts of 9mm Uzi fire had done the job of clearing the area almost immediately. However, a quick examination of the area had yielded many gifts, such as several 92FS pistols, an M3 shotgun and an AK47, plus ammunition for the whole lot.

Now a walking armory, Sly glanced over at the large elevator that went all the way to the penthouse. Somewhere behind it, Muggshot was hiding. He would finally be able to able to gain vengeance for his parents' deaths. For a second, he hesitated, wondering if, perhaps, killing Muggshot really wasn't the way to go. Surely he could find a much more non-lethal way to punish Muggshot…again.

Quickly, Sly scrapped that idea.

With a flick of the wrist, he punched the elevator button, a look of complete malice on his face.

(Check out the dramatic final showdown in the next chapter, coming right up!)


	25. Last Call For Real

(Here you have it, the final showdown between Muggshot and the Cooper Gang!)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**The Boneyard Casino, Mexico City**

**3:26 am**

**Muggshot's penthouse**

Just like in Mesa City, Muggshot's penthouse was dark, with a wide view overlooking the town below. The last two times they had fought, it had been in daylight. Now, Mexico City sparkled below them in the blackness of night. There were no mirrors here this time, nothing Sly could use to his advantage. However, Sly had quite a lot more tools at his disposal this time around. Now, in a stand up fight, he was more than a match for the bodybuilder bulldog.

However, as he stepped in, Sly noticed something odd: Muggshot was large, but he was nowhere in sight. There was almost nowhere to hide here. No curtains, no trapdoors, nothing. He looked to his left, and almost blasted the cardboard in front of him apart with his AK. Several large cutouts were positioned off to the side, mostly of the Cooper Gang. All of them had been blasted at one point, but Dimitri's, understandably, had been blown to smithereens by a hail of high caliber rounds.

The only question was…where was the gun-toting gangster himself?

Something suddenly clicked in his mind, however, and he raised his AK once more. The massive chair in front of him was turned to face the window, and it was more than large enough to conceal Muggshot's bulk. In fact, the chair suddenly turned around, slowly, and Sly tensed up, finger on the trigger as he drew a bead on where he knew Muggshot's head would be. However, when the chair finally stopped turning, there was no Muggshot there. There was no one there. Nothing…except a large package of C4.

Sly's mouth went dry, and he cautiously stepped forward to examine it. It looked to not have a timer on it anywhere, remote detonation. The little that Bentley had taught him of explosives seemed to have paid off. He knelt down, but before he could get to work clipping wires, the elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Sly whirled around, gun in hand, to find himself staring down two humongous gun barrels, and ducked and rolled just in time. Five shots sounded, ripping into the chair right up at the headpiece, tearing the seat into pieces. Miraculously, the bomb remained unharmed.

Sly was breathing heavily from behind a large potted palm, clutching his assault rifle to his body in fright.

"Hey, Cooper. Nice trick, huh?"

Muggshot, for the first time Sly had witnessed, walked out of the elevator on his feet instead of his knuckles. One of the guns he was packing was smoking, and the other was held at the ready. A quick glance at the bulldog's backpack showed Sly a very unpleasant surprise: out of the enormous pack, two belts of ammunition, loaded with shotgun rounds, extended to snake up to the guns Muggshot was carrying.

Sly groaned, stepping out and saying "Belt-fed automatic shotguns? Aw, come on, now that's just cheating."

Muggshot turned, grinning, both guns trained on Sly as he replied "Really? Actually, not so much. What's really cheating is that little beauty over there." He nodded over to the bomb, sitting on the remnants of the chair. Sly gave it only a quick glance, then trained his eyes back on Muggshot.

"Yeah…what about it?"

Muggshot's toothy grin grew, and he responded "Y'see, Cooper, that bomb right there, in case you should get lucky a third time, is programmed to detonate…as soon as my heart stops beating."

Sly glanced at the bulldog's jacket, noticing a rather large bulge over the left side of his chest. That would be the trigger pad, then. He glanced back at the bomb, but Muggshot snarled "Don't even think about ripping it out! It's anchored to the floor through the chair by titanium cables! You'll never be able to pull it out!"

Sly nodded to himself, having to admit he was rather impressed. "Wow, Muggshot, you actually went full out for this, didn't you? No cover, no other levels, automatic shotguns, a bomb as a backup…what, did your bitch, or should I say mother, plan this out for you?"

Sly had to act fast, for Muggshot let off another few blasts from the shotguns. Sly managed to dodge to the side, hearing Muggshot snarl "That TEARS IT! I been toyin' with ya long enough Cooper! My boys and Katurskay's soldiers may have been easy for ya, hell, maybe even Taloreso's mercenaries, but I can guarantee that here and now, between you and me, is where it ends! Ya may be a walking arsenal, but I'm STILL indestructible!"

Sly chose not to respond in words, but instead poured rounds from the AK into Muggshot's chest. The bullets punched through the two bulletproof vests the bulldog was wearing, and Muggshot snarled in pain before remarking "Ya know, if I was you, Cooper, I wouldn't be shooting at my heart right now, would I?"

Sly realized that Muggshot was right. In order to win, he not only had to be careful about where he placed his shots, he also had to somehow get Muggshot outside, and he doubted the bulldog would fall for going into the elevator. Out the window then…Sly made a dash for the giant window, with Muggshot's rounds punching after him, ripping through the carpet and wall. As usual, the bulldog couldn't hit for crap, and Sly made it to the window unharmed. However, as Sly emptied the AK into the glass, his heart sank. Instead of shattering, several spider web cracks simply appeared where the bullets made contact. It was bulletproof. Still on the run, and now having to listen to Muggshot's annoying laughter, Sly rammed a new clip home into the AK. He had to distract Muggshot, make him run into the glass somehow…but how? His eyes were drawn to Muggshot's weapons, and an idea formed in his head. Detonating the ammo and wrecking the guns would cause Muggshot to throw them off and come after Sly for hand to hand, as well as cause some large-scale damage.

It was at this moment, as Sly fired his next burst of rounds, that the AK jammed in his hands. He skidded to a stop, working frantically to pull the slide open. Muggshot, meanwhile, seemed to find humor in Sly's situation, enough to stop firing and draw closer, saying "Aw, would ya look at that? AK's are famous for never jamming, but when they do, it's almost impossible to fix it. Well you're outta luck now, aren't ya?"

Before Muggshot could crack one more joke, however, Sly chucked the assault rifle full force at Muggshot's face. The bulldog, not anticipating the strike, lurched backwards, howling, giving Sly enough time to pull his Uzis. With four clips left for these little marvels, Sly waited until he had a chance at the ammo pack before opening up. However, his timing was off, and the 9mm rounds buried themselves into Muggshot's vest and arm. Cursing, Sly threw the machine pistols aside, grabbing the M3 instead, sliding up close and blasting Muggshot full in the stomach, away from the detonator. The bulldog lurched backwards, and Sly, seeing his opportunity, let loose a round in each of Muggshot's guns. One of them blew apart, pieces fly everywhere, while the other was simply dented in the slide by the force of the shot. Muggshot snarled, throwing the now useless guns aside and reaching for the magnum revolver under his jacket, but Sly, seeing a true opportunity, fired another blast towards the ammo pack.

He got lucky this time, and the pellets tore through the canvas pack, igniting every single shotgun shell against Muggshot's back. As Sly's back was to the window, the explosion threw the bulldog in exactly the direction he'd wanted…but, unfortunately, straight at him as well. With a howl of agony, Muggshot stumbled towards Sly, reaching back and trying to put out the fire on his jacket. His back, at one point rippling with hard muscle, was now a ruined mess of blackened, bloody flesh. It was a miracle the bulldog was still standing. Sly quickly dropped the M3, leaving it to dangle by its strap, and pulled his pistols, emptying their clips into Muggshot's face. He never got a lethal shot, however, as Muggshot was staggering around so badly that most of Sly's rounds missed. The few that landed settled in the bulldog's cheeks and ricocheted off his teeth. Sly's pistols clicked empty just as he back into the glass. As he hit resistance, Sly ducked, just in time as well, as Muggshot took one last desperate swipe at his head, missing and smashing through the window.

Tackling Sly full on, Muggshot tumbled out the new gap, taking the Master Thief with him.

They tumbled through the air, towards the parking lot out in front, spinning end over end. As the ground zoomed up towards them, they flashed past two of Muggshot's Hueys, and Sly thought he could spot the shocked faces of one of the crews. Time seemed to have no meaning, and the fall stretched on for what seemed like hours.

Finally, however, after an agonizing wait, Sly felt the lurch of Muggshot's bulk going straight through two cars. Fortunately, Sly had been on top when the impact happened, and although he was jolted from the bulldog, all that happened to Sly was an abrupt impact and a roll, and he was back on his feet. Sly looked back at the wreckage, only to recoil in shock. Muggshot's entire body was slashed to ribbons, and the bulldog had landed on his already ruined back. A large, jagged piece of steel speared up through his chest, reaching into the air, crimson streaks of blood running down it.

And yet, inexorably, the gangster was still alive.

His eyes narrowing, Sly looked around, briefly, before glancing down at his hand. He'd managed, against all odds, to keep hold of one of his pistols, and he ejected the empty clip, jamming a new one home and releasing the slide. With a malicious clacking sound, the first 9mm round slid into the barrel of the 92FS, and Sly stood, feeling the M3 still dangling from its strap. He still had two shells in the shotgun. Unfortunately, aside from the countless clips of pistol ammo in his pockets, this was all Sly had. Sly drew closer to Muggshot's ruined body, gun held loosely in his hand, stopping only when he was looking straight down into the bulldog's eyes. One of Muggshot's powerful, muscular arms raised itself, trying to reach up and inflict some kind of damage on Sly.

However, the Master Thief simply dug his pistol in between the gangster's eyes, snarling "This is for them. My parents. Dimitri. Everyone you ever hurt or killed. This is for all of them."

With extreme relish, Sly's finger pulled the trigger, and the pistol barked in his hand, sending a 9mm round through Muggshot's forehead and bouncing around inside his skull before coming to rest somewhere in the mess that was once the bulldog's brain. Muggshot's eyes glazed over, and his jaw slackened. His arms finally fell to earth, never to rise again.

Sly peered down at his feet, squinting at the brass cartridge by his boot, glaring as the smoke finally stopped rising from it. With an almost guilty expression, Sly kicked the cartridge away, glancing around the dark parking lot. Sirens were beginning to flood in, and Sly began to get the impression there were just a few more vehicles than the local force had in their garage. A resounding explosion cut the air above his head, and the Master Thief glanced up, briefly, to be treated to Muggshot's penthouse being blasted to smithereens.

It was as though the sky was weeping with glowing relief.

* * *

**Monterrey, Mexico**

**3:38 am**

**The Dockyards**

The docks were almost always full of small boats, local fishermen who went about, making their living on the usually peaceful _Rio Panuco_. Nothing strange usually ever happened here. Monterrey, though a popular tourist spot, was also very isolated in terms of people who actually were Mexican. The local police department wasn't even Mexican, staffed by Interpol officers and a few hired men from out of town.

Tonight, however, that all changed.

The _Orca_ had served her purpose. She'd barely managed to nudge her way up next to the docks, right where the loading ramp could swing down to, before she'd become grounded on her port side, literally anchored in the shallows. Marty looked over the town, examining the docks in particular. They'd have to be extra particular with how they handled the van, as any tip towards the side could send it to the river.

Marty pushed off the gunwhale he'd been leaning against, sighing to himself. They were almost there. So close.

And yet, they were really further away then before.

They just weren't aware of it yet.

(REVIEW and love!)


	26. Zen and the Art of Hostage Taking

(A/N: I believe I must offer my apologies to my readers. The map I had at first used to reference an offload point from the river was incorrect. Monterrey is actually a landlocked city far to the north of Mexico City. As such, the city I chose in the story was incorrect. You have my deepest apologies, and if I could, I would fix this problem.)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Mexico City**

**4:08 am**

The streets of Mexico's capitol were ablaze with lights as cruisers and soldiers of Interpol stormed the avenues, blazing every single space with white spotlights. Cruiser cars swept the way first to stir up criminals, blaring by with sirens full wail, followed by heavy APCs, armed with heavy machine guns and swiveling searchlights, both of which were scouring the shadows. Interpol policemen, dressed in riot helmets and thick body armor and equipped with assault rifles and shotguns hustled behind them, turning over every piece of cover with weapon mounted flashlights. Every single exit out of the city, every street, every freeway, every railroad, and every canal, was locked down by Interpol blockades, halting everyone and anyone who attempted to seek an exit. Even the local police were subject to scrutiny, their tan uniforms easy to spot and their small numbers easy to overcome. Within the first hour of the lockdown, every single Mexican officer was herded into the downtown precinct, where SWAT teams were tasked to monitor them. All officers were given the order to fire on suspicious characters who would not halt after being called out to. So far, fourteen homeless people and five corrupt Mexican officers had been cut down. Wisely, the members of the Bone 'Eadz Gang all surrendered. The only fatalities discovered by he police on that end were inside their casino, the Boneyard, which included their leader, international criminal Muggshot, who would most likely have been given the death sentence for his recent crimes.

Sly peered around the corner, then pulled back as a spotlight danced over his position from above. Interpol helicopters were also thrown into the mix, filled with officers and armed not with machine guns, but radar transmitters to call in reinforcements to any spot in the city. Judging by what he'd heard from passing patrols, the entire city was locked down with the best that Interpol could throw at them, and the Mexican military was even on standby. That meant the possibility of tanks and sophisticated attack helicopters.

Sly brought his shotgun up to his face, keeping as close to the brick wall behind him as possible as the next chain of patrols passed by. As soon as they turned the corner of the street out there, he would have three minutes to move across the street and behind something before the next patrol came along. As soon as it did, he would need to make sure he wasn't spotted at all, or else he was dead.

Finally, the last Interpol soldier turned around the building, and the second his flashlight turned away, Sly made his move, dashing wildly across the now darkened street towards the store in front of him. Normally, he would have used his Invisibility Technique, which in reality simply utilized the unique genetic material of Cooper to activate a special electric frequency of others minds. Instead of becoming Invisible, so to say, the Cooper using the technique was simply ignored.

However, there were too many men to spread the frequency to. Not only would he need to affect the soldiers on the ground, he'd also need to alter the minds of the APC drivers. This task was impossible, at best, deadly at worst, as using the Invisibility technique for too long gave the risk of actually causing a seizure. So, Sly instead utilized his regular stealth techniques.

Shoving the shotgun over his shoulder, leaving it to hang by the strap, Sly glanced around quickly before kneeling down in front of the door. It had been awhile since he'd actually done a Cooper signature job, and he relished picking the lock instead of smashing the door as the McCoy Gang might've done. The store's entrance opened easily to Sly's lock pick, and the Master Thief slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. As was his goal, he'd slipped into a gun store, one being controlled by Muggshot and ignored by crooked cops. Slipping into the back, Sly silently dropped the shotgun and its two shells, turning to the wall of serious hardware. After dropping his padded jacket, Sly quickly slid into a shoulder rig, slipping his pistol into it, as well as all his clips. It was time to leave behind the stand and fire methodology he'd been working with and revert back to running and gunning. Leaving the big, bulky assault rifles where they were, Sly instead picked up a smaller MP5K, a small version of the MP5, but still fired the same 9mm round. A silencer fitted onto the barrel, and a magazine belt held all the bullets he needed. It was time to stop fighting like a soldier and go back to fighting like a thief.

Ditching his sunglasses as well, Sly massaged his face, already missing his mask. However, a quick browsing of his pockets revealed his favorite cap once more, which he pulled back onto his head. The snug fit encouraged him that it would not fall off.

A telephone pole outside was his method of escape, and he climbed it to the top, leaping from the wires to a pipe set into the gun shop's wall. From here it was a straight shot to the roof, where Sly was reintroduced to his favorite playground.

As he leapt along the wires, over the roofs and across streets filled with soldiers, Sly realized that no matter how well the McCoy Gang trained him with guns, he would never love fighting as much as he did jumping.

* * *

**The Boneyard**

**4:14 am**

The casino was buzzing with Interpol activity, the bottom floor and parking lot ablaze with lights. Grizzly APCs and Dodge Charger cruise cars surrounded the parking lot, corralling the officers and watching the streets. Detective Emmanuel Herrerez, suited in body armor, had been the officer to call for mass Interpol support, and as such was the only Mexican officer to be trusted. As of now, he was being recommended for a promotion, one which would elevate him not into the investigative department of Interpol, but into the assault forces. Herrerez, having grown up in the slums before mass urbanization, was only glad to accept. The cougar was sick of the picky investigative branch, preferring to shoot first and ask questions later. Now, he donned the blue uniform of an Interpol Assault Force member, or the IAF. In his hand was not a Shock Pistol, but a German Heckler and Koch G36C assault rifle. Heavily armed, and finally feeling in his element, Herrerez was feeling proud of himself, and worked hard to prove himself to the captain in charge of the Mexico City lockdown.

The captain turned to him now, a tall, former SAS Doberman Pincher, Captain Evan Spencer.

"Herrerez!" he called, and the Cougar turned, answering "Yessir?"

Spencer pointed, saying "Where does that go?"

Herrerez realized that Spencer was pointing over his shoulder, and turned back to spy a staircase, leading away from the giant, shattered window he was standing at. The cougar was at a loss as he said "Uh…I believe its just the second level of the casino, sir."

Spencer nodded, saying "Well, has it been secured yet?"

"No sir."

"Why?"

Herrerez turned to look back at the captain, then wished he hadn't. As Spencer was only wearing a baseball cap, and not a helmet, his face was fully visible, and the dog's glare could have frozen hell over, it was so icy.

Realizing he needed to do some damage control, Herrerez cleared his throat, yelling to two soldiers who were standing behind him, saying "You two! Come with me, we're going to check out the second floor!"

One of them, a tall Great Dane, shrugged and responded "Whatever you say, rookie."

Grinding his teeth together, Herrerez simply slapped the visor of his helmet down, keying his handset before saying "You with me or not? We got a bunch of other floors to secure. Might as well start with this one."

The two dogs fell in behind him, and all three made for the stairs, assault rifles up and visors down. The trio proceeded forward, climbing the stairs one at a time, each one taking up a position to offer covering fire. The climb was uneventful, and the door at the top yielded easily to a single kick. The three slipped in, rifles poised and ready. Moving with slow determination, they proceeded along the doughnut, each watching a different direction as they all took in the wreckage.

It was obvious that a large gunfight had happened here, not as large as the battle that had left the massacre of the mysterious soldiers downstairs, but damn near close. Enormous bullet holes and giant craters told of massive weaponry, leaving a trail of destruction behind.

There were three elevators leading off this floor, although one appeared to be powered down. That would be the high security lift, then, as the upper floors had been destroyed by the explosion spotted earlier. The other two, however, looked to be intact.

As the trio made their way towards one of the elevators, however, the second dog, a Collie, held up his hand and whispered "Contact. I have a crashed helicopter ahead of us. Looks like someone got a little daredevil into them."

The team slowed, then proceeded into the next room, off the doughnut. A small black helicopter lay in the middle of a large fountain, which was leaking over the edge and all over the floor. The craft was crumpled, and several bullet holes lined its sides. The heavy machine guns and rocket launchers told that this was obviously the criminal of the destruction in the previous room. The team moved forward, and while the Collie swept the room with his rifle as lookout, Herrerez and the Great Dane approached the helicopter, guns at the ready. Herrerez stepped up next to the ruptured fuel tank, which was still dripping, and examined the symbol painted on the side. It was a large, white rhino head, with a spiked T in blue sitting in the center.

"Got a symbol here. Looks like its Taloreso, an Italian mafia lord. Can't tell what the hell he's doing out here, though."

With a wrench of tearing metal, the Great Dane ripped open the door, peering in before shaking his head and saying "Pilot's dead. Looks like the windshield got pummeled by bullets enough to break it. Half his face is gone, but that's not from the crash. Looks like a bunch of bullets hit him. Hard to tell what caliber until we do an autopsy, but this guy's definitely a hyena. Matches up with the soldiers Taloreso hires."

Herrerez turned to the dog, saying "Yeah, but what's an African mercenary who works for an Italian criminal doing here in Mexico?"

The dog stood again, brushing glass out of his armor, saying "We've been monitoring Muggshot for awhile. Turns out he's been doing business with Taloreso and a Russian crime boss named Katurskay. They're trading all sorts of things, guns, vehicles, explosives, drugs. We've even received a tip off that Katurskay is planning on selling some nuclear material to Taloreso. Investigators are trying to find more proof, but by eliminating Muggshot, we may have just hurt their gun market." The dog shrugged. "Or, whoever did kill Muggshot. Someone's out to get them."

Herrerez felt chills runs down his spine as he said "These three crime lords working together have a lock on nearly the entire world. If they got weapons of mass destruction…there'd be no stopping them."

The Great Dane shrugged once more, saying "Well, that depends on what…holy sh-!" The large dog's words were cut off by a spray of blood from the back of his head, originating from the bullet that slammed through his visor. The soldier fell like a stone, and Herrerez spun around, rifle up. The Collie was dead too, most likely killed at the same time as the Dane.

Before the cougar could radio his panic, a hand suddenly slammed down onto his shoulder, and he felt his helmet get yanked off, taking the radio wire with it. Before he could even react, his rifle was pulled from his grasp, and a blow landed on his jaw, knocking him to the watery floor. A sharp clack sounded above him, telling Herrerez that someone was now aiming his own weapon at his prone form.

A rough voice said "Okay, now I've got a gun again. This should be simple."

Sliding in the background told Herrerez that someone else was going over the bodies of the other soldiers, an obvious sign of someone collecting weapons and ammunition. His vision finally straight, Herrerez turned onto his back, only to find himself staring down the barrel of his own G36C. The new owner of the weapon was a large, pink hippo, and Herrerez took a second to recognize Murray Green, rated to be one of the strongest men in the world. Already worried, the cougar looked to his right to spy a wolverine with a bandaged shoulder standing with the Collie's rifle, obviously just acquired.

"Only four magazines per soldier, plus the one already loaded. We need more."

The Hispanic accent was not familiar to Herrerez, though he could now identify the boy as Julio Benedek, the infamous sniper and bombardier. While he was now well and truly intimidated, Herrerez couldn't fathom as to why the Cooper and McCoy Gangs were operating together, although if they were, then there was only one more individual who would make this experience absolutely terrifying.

And he just happened to speak up to Herrerez's left.

"Then perhaps keeping our friend alive was a better idea that we thought."

There he was. Mikhail. The Black Death. The Grim Reaper. With a bounty nearly half of the McCoy Gang's total and a kill count exceeding most other notorious murderers, Mikhail was argued to be the deadliest member. There was virtually nothing known about him, no age, no birthplace. No one even knew if Mikhail was the psychopath's real name. The panther stood before Herrerez, dressed all in black, looking well and truly like he belonged in the Matrix. The third G36C was passed to him, and the assassin looked the gun over, nodding slightly before working the action.

As Benedek began searching the bodies for more weapons and ammo, Mikhail slipped Herrerez's own munitions out of his vest while Green kept the cougar covered. Herrerez had no thoughts of fighting back. The G36C packed the same ammunition as an M16, and with himself virtually unarmed, he would be dead in seconds. Instead, he bided his time, waiting. When the team failed to report in at all, Captain Spencer would undoubtedly have teams cover every exit.

In fact, his handset, still in his belt, crackled to life, and Spencer voice said _**"Report. Herrerez, Myers, Freedman, what's your condition?"**_ Mikhail looked down at the radio, briefly, before slipping it out of Herrerez's belt as well, staring at it as he stood. Spencer's voice came through once more. _**"Herrerez, Myers, Freedman, respond!"**_

Again, no response. Mikhail smiled, slightly, saying "Well, comrades, we can at least use this to our advantage."

The panther grasped Herrerez's helmet, tugging the headset wire out and applying it to his own ear. Plugging the wire into the handset, the assassin slipped the radio into his pocket, checking the frequency before flicking to a few others. After a minute, he said "They're blocking the stairways. Sounds like their numbers are high. IAF soldiers, by what I'm hearing."

He motioned to Green, saying "Get him up."

Before Herrerez could object or respond, the hippo's large hand descended, grabbing the cougar's vest and hoisting the officer to his feet. A gun barrel was stuck under his chin, and the hippo snarled "Make a bad move, and you get a bullet in the leg." Herrerez wisely kept his mouth closed, putting his hands up behind his head as he started towards a stairway.

* * *

Captain Spencer had dealt with this kind of situation before, both fortunately and unfortunately, and hostages were a constant. They hadn't heard back from the three soldiers since they'd gone up, and several armed squads were waiting and ready. Spencer himself had grabbed his own weapon, a 12 gauge 870 MCS shotgun, and was diverting soldiers to areas of cover. Four snipers were in place and ready to handle any surprises, armed with M21 rifles. Most likely, the criminals would ask for a vehicle and safe passage in exchange for the soldier's life, and Spencer already had a car waiting for them, outfitted with a GPS tracker. Once the soldier was safe, they could eliminate the criminals without mercy.

His radio squawked to life. Team One had spotted something.

_**"Captain, we've got them in front of us. They're using the rookie as a shield. They wanna talk to you."**_

Spencer turned and started for the western staircase, saying "I'm on my way. Keep them stalled. Shoot only in defense. Let's not make a second bloodbath here. Spencer out."

A short walk with Team Three in tow brought Spencer over to Team One's position. Team One consisted of two squads of soldiers, ten men, armed with either rifles or shotguns. All the soldiers' weapon mounted flashlights were cast onto the group at the top of the stairs, yet, thankfully, no one looked to be about to actually get trigger happy.

Spencer signaled Team Three to stay back, trying to ease the pressure of the situation. The three armed men with Herrerez were all on _Interpol's Most Wanted Criminals_ list, as well as carrying the danger rating of **Extremely Deadly**. Fortunately, they were also professionals, and wouldn't simply kill Herrerez to make an example. They weren't malicious.

"Misters Mikhail, Green and Benedek, I believe."

The wolverine brought his weapon around to point at Spencer, causing the other soldiers to tense up some. The panther simply stood there, rifle hanging casually from his shoulder, and the hippo dug the barrel of his gun deeper into Herrerez's back. The cougar grimaced, teeth bared.

Spencer's own lips pursed, and he said "It appears you have my soldier there, and he's not looking too happy. You alright Herrerez?" The cougar nodded, saying "As good as anyone in this position could be. _Ay, caramba,_ can you push that gun any deeper?"

Spencer nodded, and his next comment was to the criminals. He released the shotgun, letting it hang from its strap and pushing it around as he stepped up behind Team One, saying "Now, this is probably the part where I ask what you chaps want, you tell me, threaten his life, and we wait around while its assembled. However, I've worked with terrorists before," he made sure to put extra emphasis on the word _terrorists_, "And I think I know what you boys want." He began counting off on his fingers as he said "A vehicle to escape in, a gap in the blockade, money to get you out of here, and the assurance that no one will follow you. Anything else?"

The wolverine nodded, indicating his assault rifle and saying "And more ammo. At least fifteen clips for these." Spencer nodded, saying "Alright, then. We already have a vehicle ready for you, every soldier is pitching in some cash, American dollars, and we can get that ammunition for you momentarily. If you chaps will simply follow me, then."

He gave the signal for Team One to stand down, and they did, reluctantly stepping away and lowering their weapons, wary for any kind of trickery. With a wave of his hand, Spencer indicated the way through wreckage and equipment the IAF had brought in, using the action of turning towards the spotlights and shielding his eyes to key his radio headset and inform the snipers "Don't fire until I say so."

The hippo pushed Herrerez down the steps, and the criminals moved forward, glancing to the left and right at the soldiers. Spencer led them through the casino, towards the front door, radioing the prepared car to meet them in the parking lot and the APCs to open up a gap. If the opportunity presented itself, they would take it and eliminate the criminals, but until then, they had to keep up the appearances that they were going along with the agreement. Even now, the snipers were relocating from where they had been hiding on the first floor towards new positions near the parking lot.

The doors, now permanently open because of the IAF accessing the ground floor security station, were cleared of soldiers, all of whom were careful of where their guns were pointed. Spencer stepped into one of the spotlights, waving his hand around to one of the men, who yelled into the darkness. With the revving of an engine and a screech of tires, an IAF member pulled up in a black Jeep Liberty, a Bone 'Eadz vehicle found in the parking lot. A GPS transmitter had been quickly planted under the driver's seat, ensuring that no matter where the criminals went, they could be followed. The soldier stepped out, threw a quick salute to Spencer, then jogged away to join the other soldiers on the sides.

The criminals came out, Herrerez being roughly shoved ahead of them, then paused, their eyes on Muggshot's mangled body. For a minute, they simply stared at it, then the hippo muttered "I'll be damned…he actually did it. He actually killed Muggshot."

Spencer glanced over at the body, saying "You know who? Don't worry, we're glad. We've been hunting him for months."

The hippo seemed about to answer when the panther cut him off, saying "An associate of ours. He's been hunting Muggshot for longer."

Spencer nodded, saying "Sly Cooper, then? Good, that means Sergeant Bates owes me fifty bucks."

Instant shock spread across the criminals' faces, including the panther's, and Spencer took his chance. Quickly, quietly, he whispered into the radio "Take them out, now."

He'd only just completed the sentence when the panther yelled "Get down!"

The snipers fired at the wrong second, and all three bullets cut over the criminals' heads. One bullet smashed into another soldier's throat, knocking the man to the ground. The second bullet narrowly missed Spencer's head, ripping through the radio wire as the Captain also ducked, going for his shotgun. The third round, fortunately, passed harmlessly by.

As every single soldier went for their guns, Herrerez tried to make a break for it, but the panther coldly raised his rifle, letting off a burst that hit the cougar full in the back, dropping the officer to the ground.

"Bloody hell, FIRE!" Spencer had to yell it, as his radio was gone. He let off a blast from his shotgun, ducking behind an ammunition crate as the wolverine fired at him.

* * *

Mikhail had heard the captain give the order for someone to fire over the radio, and had fortunately yelled to the team in time. Now, however, he was suddenly wishing that he hadn't cut down the hostage. If he hadn't perhaps the soldiers wouldn't have opened fire on them. Now, though, with them being outnumbered at least ten to one, there seemed very little chance that the three could shoot their way out. Which left only running as an option.

"Suppressing fire! Get to the Jeep!" he yelled, shooting wildly.

It didn't even matter if he hit anything. Right now, he was just trying to keep the soldiers from firing back. Fortunately, Murray and Julio caught on to the point, running while firing blindly backwards. Two soldiers went down, yelling into the radio, and the others had the sense to seek shelter first. Murray threw open the Jeep's door first, tossing his rifle to Mikhail as he clambered into the vehicle, and the panther extended his arms to the side, letting loose with both rifles in opposite directions. Julio let off a few bursts before clambering into the front seat after Murray. The wolverine yelled "Mikhail, get in, now!" Mikhail fired again with both rifles at the captain, who emerged from behind a cruiser, shotgun in hand. The bullets hammered into the hood and headlight, two of them ramming into the dog's shoulder, throwing the British soldier back to the ground.

Satisfied, Mikhail leapt into the backseat, shucking the magazines of both guns and reloading them. Murray stomped the gas pedal, and the car sped forward in a squeal of burning rubber on asphalt, tearing towards the rapidly closing gap in the line of Grizzly APCs. If the armored personnel carrier managed to close the gap, they would smash into the reinforced steel vehicle full on. The gunner opened up with the mounted .50 caliber machine gun, and large rounds began zipping past, some smacking into the jeep. One crashed through the windshield, and Murray and Julio ducked low. The wolverine begin firing back blindly, but Mikhail ripped open the moon roof, standing with his rifle up to his shoulder, sighting through the attached combat scope. He fired one burst, two, and a rifle round punched straight through the gunner's helmet, destroying his brain in a spray of blood out the back. The gunner's body fell into the vehicle, and the APC veered to the side, presumably because the gunner's body had landed against the driver.

Murray seized the chance, and gunned it through the gap. The space was narrow, and the front of another Grizzly dug into the side of the Jeep, tearing a long mark along the door with an ear-rattling screech.

But then, they were through, zooming off into the dark streets of Mexico City.

((Ta-dah! And you were probably expecting them to excape in the helicopter, weren't you? Ha Ha! Oh, and the review button says it misses you dearly and wants to know what it did to earn your ignoral. -sniff- HOW CAN YOU BE SO CRUEL?!))


	27. Iron, Blood and Shadows

(A/N: And here we are once again! I apologize for the ENORMOUS delay, but I have been having trouble with my schoolwork, and I am determined to graduate this year. So, I will persevere!)

**Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous**

**Along the Road to Mexico City**

**4:58 am**

It was really quite cramped in the Cooper van, between the guns and computers. Junk food littered the floor and dashboard, and the billboards mounted to the walls were filled with race standings and car magazines. Bentley and Penelope, for one, were glad to be back in the familiar vehicle. When they had gone after Shuker in Paris, they had fitted all of Bentley's original equipment into their former compartments, clearing all of Murray's magazines and boxes of parts out of where they'd been sloppily stacked. Now, with the computers booted up and running again, space was made available, only for it to be taken up once more by the team and their equipment. As they weren't able to take all the weapons on the _Orca_, Marty had reluctantly given the order for everyone to select their weapons carefully. Everyone had done so, taking minimal ammunition to conserve space. Their armory was now swiftly shortened to twin M4A1 Carbine assault rifles, a Mossberg shotgun, Marty's FN Minimi, Dimitri's MP5, a single RPG and everyone's handguns. The guns had all been boxed up, with a max allowance of three magazines per weapon. The containers, metallic ones this time, were used as every possible space conserving device, including tables, chairs and even desks.

Carmelita had been elected, once more, as the driver, and she took up the job with a reluctant grumble. Now, the van was cruising down the Mexican freeway south, stopping twice for bathroom and food breaks. Caroline would have compared the experience to a large family going on a road trip, but arguments here were minimal, and contact was often accepted. Dimitri, bored out of his mind, was playing a card game with Guru, alternating between poker and blackjack to try and fool the koala's aboriginal abilities. However, no matter what the iguana tried, he couldn't trick the shaman, leading to several strings of cursing, both in his odd English, and in rapid French.

_'At least he's not smoking,'_ thought Caroline as she snuggled up against Marty. _'He would've choked us all a long time ago.'_ Marty had wisely gotten rid of the Stetson hat, as it seemed to cause too much trouble than really helping at all.

Though the Lab was trying to cozy up to the horse, Marty was rather preoccupied with his leg. The wound had been subjected to such an accelerated healing system, and still stung unless he was nearly doped up on painkillers. As he unwound the bandage, he carefully poked the wound, flinching as a streak of pain lanced up his leg. The stump was still raw, and he carefully reapplied the disinfectant ointment before rewrapping the bandage. He decided to leave the prosthetic off, thinking that his leg needed a rest. He leaned back against the weapon case he and Caroline were sitting by, sighing in exhaustion. The van was filled with a sour stench, a mixture of sweat, grime, gunpowder and blood. None of them had taken a shower since that fateful day in Tampico, but no one was complaining at all. There was nothing they could've done about it. The _Orca's_ shower had long ago been torn apart, obviously by the ship's former mechanic intending to fix the piping, and there wasn't any time to stop by a motel simply for a wash.

Marty knew the first thing he'd do as soon as they left Mexico would be to tell everyone to take a long, hot shower. Bad hygiene was as much a disease causer as an open wound. For now, however, he simply applied as much deodorant as possible and hoped the air conditioner would keep them from sweating anymore than they were now.

To find a way to pass the time, he turned to Caroline and said, quietly "Have you thought about what you'll do after this? After we get out of here, the Cooper and McCoy Gangs are splitting."

Caroline smiled slightly, playing with a lock of golden hair that had come loose of her ponytail, curling it around her finger as she thought her response. Marty's eyes were drawn to that lock of hair, that lock of grimy hair that somehow managed to keep its beautiful sheen. Her voice, however, brought him back to Earth.

"Well…I don't know. I supposed I could go back to Interpol. Y'know, after I 'escape' from you guys."

She'd meant it as a joke, but Marty's head tipped to the side, obviously thinking hard about something.

Finally, he asked "Well, why haven't you, yet?"

Caroline was not expecting the question, and for a moment, she didn't have an answer. After a minute of thinking, however, she replied "I don't know. For some reason, the possibility never came to me. I supposed at first I told myself that it was to work with you until the right moment and take you down. After all, what you planned wasn't against civilians. At first, I suppose, you were an asset. Now, however, I really do relish the opportunity to actually make a difference without wading through a sea of red tape first."

She smiled at Marty, who at first looked at her, blankly, before he chuckled, lightly, his face still blank. With a smile, she reached up to his head, her fingers scratching behind his right ear at a patch of dried oil. With a nicker and a twitch, Marty's eyes closed as she rubbed the sensitive spot.

However, while his eyes were closed, Caroline's smile slowly slid off her face, replaced by another sad one of guilt.

**Mexico City**

**4:41 am**

Sly knew that dawn was imminent. The sky on the horizon had already grown pink, highlighting the grey clouds along the skyline. And once the sun was up, it would be nearly impossible to remain undetected from Interpol. The IAF had quickly searched the entire city, and Sly had nearly been discovered several times, mostly by helicopters. For some reason, the streets were bare. And Sly had an idea why.

Having taken up a position in the few remaining shadows atop a bank, Sly had purposefully put himself here to intercept the large commotion he knew was coming his way. Sirens and gunfire echoed in the distance, and several helicopters were following a single target. The roaring of engines told the Master Thief that this high speed pursuit was after a car, and he had a strong feeling that it was the rest of the team escaping from the casino. If it was them, they would need as much help as possible.

Suddenly, the subject of Interpol's attentions veered around the corner, revealing itself to be a bullet-ridden, severely thrashed black Jeep Liberty. Two figures were leaning out the windows, one firing an assault rifle, the second shooting a pistol. A third person was standing up straight from the moon roof, firing another assault rifle back. The pursuit convoy consisted of several police cruisers and APCs, all firing at the single car in front of them. The helicopters, four of them, would swerve down low over the Jeep, allowing their passengers of IAF soldiers to fire down at the vehicle. Sly knew that, under this sort of extreme pressure, the Jeep wouldn't last long. They urgently needed assistance.

Quickly, Sly stepped out onto a rope stretching over the street, decorated with several banners telling of two mayoral elections. Reaching one, the Master Thief slid down the banner, stopping himself at the end and waiting. As the Jeep approached, Sly waved wildly, glad he hadn't been holding the submachine gun before he'd run out. The figure in the moon roof seemed to get the point, however, and quickly slipped into the car. At the right moment, Sly let go, slamming into the roof of the Jeep. He would've slid off had the moon roof been closed, but as it was, he simply rolled inside. With a heavy thud, he landed square into Mikhail, and the panther let out an "Ooof!" as the breath was knocked out of his lungs.

"Sorry!" yelled Sly as he struggled to sit up. Obviously, the car looked much worse than it actually was, as every single needle on the dashboard was pushed to the far side. Murray, as he did with every vehicle, was pushing the Jeep to its limits.

"How ya doin' Sly?" yelled the hippo over his shoulder as he wrenched the wheel around.

"Fine, Murray. Where're you planning on going?"

"Somewhere there ain't any cops! Got an idea?"

Sly stood with Mikhail, both firing back at the mass of vehicles behind them as he replied "Just head for the north edge of town! There's an old steel plant that the cops haven't blocked off. We bust through there and we'll be home free!"

**Volgograd, Russia**

**5:01 am**

As she strode through the halls of the manor, her heels clicking off the floor, everyone else around her quickly saluted and moved to the side. Those who hadn't been around long enough to know this, however, were ruthlessly shoved aside, slammed into the walls or into other men. However, she showed no regret or remorse.

She was late. And Katurskay never tolerated tardiness from his employees.

Finally, the double doors loomed in front of her, and she put her arms out, pushing them open with no effort. Katurskay's study was immaculate, with several bookshelves lining the walls. The room was dimly lit by old fashioned oil lamps and a single large, roaring fireplace. Three desks adorned the room. Two of them were neatly piled with thick, old books, with two chairs for each one. They were covered in dark green felt, carefully tended for by some of the best tailors Russia had. The third was a wide, dark oak desk at the far end of the room, lit by the enormous window that overlooked the white Russian landscape. This third desk was Katurskay's personal workspace. No one ever touched anything on it, and if you were invited to sit in the single carved chair in front of it, it was either for something very good or something very bad. Katurskay's own chair was enormous, high backed, with curving arms and clawed feet.

Katurskay himself was sitting in the large chair, carrying his enormous frame comfortably. The old musk ox loved old-fashioned comfort that reminded him of life when Russia was strong. Katurskay had been on Joseph Stalin's personal staff throughout the Cold War, and had even secretly been the real leader of the Soviet Union all the way up until it had fallen in the nineties. After that, he had been deposed, overthrown, cast into the shadows and labeled a murderer and a criminal. In response, Katurskay had swiftly gathered the still loyal members of his own former personal army, forcefully taking control of Volgograd's criminal underworld. In almost no time at all, the entire city answered to him. Police chief, mayor, no matter who the people thought was in charge, they still answered to Katurskay.

After his takeover, Katurskay had executed everyone who had stood against him, cleaning out the city government and police station, placing his own puppets in office. He literally had his finger on the pulse of the city.

And he was thirsting for more blood.

He looked up from his computer, past the reading glasses that deceptively gave off an air of age. Katurskay may have been over seventy years old, but the elderly musk ox was still as cold, vicious and ruthlessly powerful as when he'd fought the Germans in defense of this very city.

As she stepped into the study, closing the doors behind her, he grunted, looking at his clock before he remarked "You're late, Tanya. One minute late."

Tanya bowed before her father, saying "I'm sorry. There were a few…annoyances to deal with in town."

Katurskay grunted, laying down the stack of papers he'd had in his other hand, saying "If you were not my daughter, I would cut off your ear. However, I am merciful to my own blood."

Tanya knew, however, that if she slipped again, she would most likely be punished in the fashion he said, family or not.

Raising her head, she reached up and rubbed a flake of snow off one of her horns before saying "The compound is secure. The wall is repaired and the machinery is wrecked. The advantage will be ours."

Katurskay nodded, asking "What of the Apostles?"

The Apostles were Katurskay's professional assassins, and although most of them were foreign and not trained in the Soviet Union's old regime, they were all trained to be better than the best. In short, they were the deadliest men in all of Asia.

Tanya nodded and said "They are camping out nearby. They prefer to memorize the layout now." Katurskay removed his glasses, allowing himself a rare smile. It contained no warmth, as ever, and Tanya, though she was accustomed to it, felt a chill run down her spine.

The old musk ox rose from the chair slowly, his powerful body draped in casual business clothes. His hand rose to the tie around his neck, and his fingers gently loosened the red cloth. His head tipped back, displaying his enormous, curled horns as he stared at the giant symbol on the ceiling: the hammer and sickle, the emblem of the Soviet Union. He stepped out from behind the desk, tucking his hands into his pockets, his gaze still fixed on the emblem.

"Soon," he whispered, as if he'd forgotten his daughter was there, "Soon, my empire will rise again. Russia will once more be the most feared nation in the world…with me at its head."

As much as Katurskay controlled the city of Volgograd, there was one person, only one, that he answered to: an Italian mobster who had control of nearly all of Europe, Taloreso. Katurskay and Taloreso were both men who'd had their power torn from their grasp by the undeserving. Both also had common goals: Taloreso wished to rule the world, and Katurskay wished to bring glory once more to Russia. However, for either one to accomplish their goals, they needed the other.

Tanya watched her father as he stood there, reminiscing to himself and imagining the future. She never knew who her mother was, even had her suspicions that he wasn't her true sire, but had accepted the life he'd prepared her for. Using the Soviet training of old, Katurskay had put her through every single field of special forces training before she had even reached fifteen years old. Her accuracy with any firearm was unmatched, and her physical strength was great enough that she could grab a man by his jacket and throw him like a rag doll. She was his greatest, most loyal asset.

Tanya cleared her throat, bringing her father back to the real world. As he turned to face her, she said "I do have some unfortunate news, however. I have just received a phone call from our operative in Mexico. Muggshot has been killed by an alliance of the McCoy and Cooper Gangs, and all our men posted to protect his operations have been exterminated, including Taloreso's men."

To her surprise, her father began to laugh, his face breaking out in another of his chilling smiles. "Well, we all knew it was going to happen. I suppose it was simply a matter of time." He turned away from her once more, stepping back to his desk, asking "And what of McCoy? When shall we spring the trap?"

Tanya rolled her head slightly, cracking her neck before answering "They are still in Mexico. Our operative recommends we wait until they have returned to one of their safe houses."

Katurskay nodded once more, settling into his chair before, saying "Very good, Tanya. Dismissed."

Biting her lip angrily, Tanya saluted stiffly, turned on her heel and left. As soon as she was out of the study, she swiftly pulled out her cell phone, dialing furiously. When the man on the other end picked up, Tanya said "It's me. We don't have long. Is everything ready?" She listened to the response before she finished "Good. I'll call when we commence."


End file.
